From Dawn to Dusk
by Pollux Unbound
Summary: Kurosaki Ichigo has been living a carefree life all this time, until he meets a certain guy, a vampire, who goes by the name Ulquiorra. If things aren't bad enough, some Grimmjow, also a vampire, keeps hovering around him too. GrimmIchi UlquiIchi AU
1. The Aizen Siblings

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Bleach; genius Kubo Tite does.

**A/N:** In more ways than one, this is highly unoriginal and may appear to be a parody, chiefly because it's bound to have lots of parallelisms with the new novel sensation the **Twilight Saga** by **Stephenie Meyer** which, strictly for me, is **stuffed with all the varieties of the mind-numbing cliché** a deluded teenager can ever invent in years of yearning to be a goddamn fictional character. I'm _sorry _if you have found the saga engrossing in whatever degree at any point, but with the disappointment and revulsion it has occasioned me in so far as I can tell from the point I've reached in its pages I reckon I'd have gained more if I opted to read traffic signs instead. I'm not bashing. If anything, I'm just writing. Also, there's no absolute guarantee of this story getting finished. Also, I'm liable to commit grammatical errors so you might as well expect them all over the place. Lastly, this is cheesy and is probably not worth your time.

**Full Summary**: This is the story of Kurosaki Ichigo, a boy who's never known serious adversary, true opposition, and any form of travesty worth putting on paper. He's never been in love either. In the turmoil of his utterly monotonous existence, a boy whose name is Ulquiorra Scheiffer calls for a total makeover for the mechanical repetition of events Ichigo likes to call his life. Just then, someone else makes an entrance; someone more formidable. His name: Grimmjow Jaggerjack. It also doesn't help his plight when he learns that Ulquiorra is in fact a blood-sucking hound of hell. Things further go downhill when he discovers that Grimmjow is also of the _same_ breed. But most damning of all is the seemingly accurate suspicion that both magnificent creatures appear to be… falling in love with him.

Chapter I: The Aizen Siblings

My name is Kurosaki Ichigo. I'm completely functional and I have all the merits attributable to a regular teenage boy. Moving to a new town, and afterwards trying to fit in to a whole new world, however, is inexorable in the pages of the lives of kids like me. Even more generic is the probability of me meeting someone who'll turn my world upside down. And even more so predictable is this; I'm not set up to meet just one, but _two_ life-menacing threats in my journey through the teenage world.

Nah. Let's put it more casual and applicable to my mouth: I've just about met some world-class, but nevertheless the worst headache-inducing, dudes of the twenty-first century. Welcome to my life. To allocate things in due order, I'm gonna hand to you the accounts in chronology.

To start off, I've just moved in with my dysfunctional family to a verging-on-backwater town somewhere in H—. The place is neat; yeah, I have to give it that, at least. But it's freezing like the Earth has just been thrown to the other end of the galaxy where no sun shines whatsoeffingever. Well, I've long ago resigned with the promise that I'd tone down my gripes to reasonable count so, maybe, I'll just stop right here with my insignificant ramblings. After all, privileged teens have no right to complain about anything after having the grandest of things.

On second thoughts, reasonable count, upon closer analysis, amounts to more or less thirty qualms in a minute on the premise that you live with your dad. Your dad being Ishiin Kurosaki. Even after you've just recently cut ties with your old pals by bouncing out of town, and getting all your things hauled off while tears dampened your lids, someone has to act retarded. Not to give you the wrong impression or anything but, although I love my dad and my sisters since they're the vestige of a complete family in the untimely permanent departure of my mom, we're just nothing you'd be inclined to call normal. My dad is a skilled doctor, and conjugal with that fact is the implication that diplomacy is very much expected of him. He's fine, alright, if only he's not into the habit of instantly transforming into a full-blown prank-pulling son of a gun when no decent people are in sight. Worse still, his pranking tendencies are exclusively persecuted on me; me, who happens to be his one and only son. He might have been asking for a younger brother all these years. No real complaints there.

In the most unfortunate twist of fate, it comes to pass that I have to start all over again with the basic introductions about myself to practically anyone who maywish to strike up a chat with me in my new school. Man, being a new kid in town ain't a walk in the park. On the contrary, being such is comparable to an idiot sentenced to years of verbal redundancy. So now I'm going about like, "I'm Kurosaki Ichigo. I've just moved into town. Nice to meet you.", dumping only the bare necessities.

I may have sounded so much like a prerecorded audiotape, but what surprises me is that the majority of the kids are bestowing my introduction with attentiveness far exceeding what's appropriate. Oddly enough, I'm currently being treated like royalty. So, against my better judgment, I mingle witlessly with just about anyone who so much as nods at me. You may call me a cut-throat cynic at your leisure any time now. Yet, somehow, I'm guessing that's something that's about to change, definitely.

"So, how do you like your new school?" a redhead loudmouth, who seconds ago introduced himself as Renji Abarai, asks me. We're in the same class.

"Nothing really worth my awe but nothing below my comfort either."

He grunts. "I take it you mean 'okay'".

"That's a word for it. In any case, can you give me some brief particulars about how things go around here?"

We're in the cafeteria, lunching along with a handful of classmates. By this time it would be a shame to have forgotten all their names. Ironically, I can only recall two; I hope this doesn't make me land well in the 'imbecile' category.

Renji assumes a face of some authoritative quality before doling out,

"Let me _re_introduce every head on this table: The one at the farthest end of the bench is Ishida Uuryu the Geek; next to him is Sado Yasutora the Gentle Giant; beside him is Inoue Orihime, Miss Perfect; sitting at her side is Kuchiki Rukia, my childhood friend, hence my best pal here; across her is Toushiro Hitsugaya, and yes he's just stepped on his teen years first time around; beside him is rich boy Kira Izuru; and the last one is Yamada Hanatarou. Remember your fellow freshmen's names well."

The one immovable thing standing between me and full memorization of their names is my deficiency in the memory department. Whatever. I nod while making my actions look like they mean something other than the true one; disinterest. Gosh, my attention starts to pass out cold even though I'm in the presence of two really pretty girls, but I let my gaze get honed by the environment I need to familiarize myself with. This place is crawling with good-looking chicks, a feat which is altogether contrary to the town's dreary atmosphere and poor population count. Someone should really pity me at this point; why, I'm observing everything that comes to my vision as if estimating for some profitable cause. The closest thing this activity can conceivably get to being productive is my ending up having the mind to choose a career afterwards; future career equals image consultant. Dammit, pretty girls are practically _everywhere_ I turn my fucking head.

"Who is she?" It doesn't register fast enough for me that I have spoken. What's worse is that the absent-minded curiosity in my voice hasn't partaken in moderation.

"Oh, her?" Renji asks back when it's as obvious as the effing sun's existence whom I have referred. Really, no one else within a mile of radial vicinity is sending signals like a leer jet save the girl. "She's Rangiku Matsumoto. Lovely thing, isn't she? She's in the senior batch, and, to be blunt, she's way out of your league. In other words, forget it."

I scowl. Well, it seems to have passed on as a joke because now everyone is chuckling on his meal.

"I'll keep that in mind."

My eyes travel to where Rangiku Matsumoto is. The space around her radiates unnaturally, or so I think, or she makes it do so. Indeed, her presence itself has all the qualities of a dream and…I should stop. I've only been under the roof of this alma mater for half a day but already my head is being bolstered by unmanageable thoughts. Obviously, my attempts to recover isn't much of a success, as my life never have been, now that I continue to be entranced by her—

"If she interests you maybe I should give you a tour of the lovely dolls in here, the school's very treasure." Renji offers.

"No, thanks—"

"—See that girl with Matsumoto-sempai? That's her best friend, Nanao Ise, and she herself isn't half bad. They go around like twins, completely inseparable although they're like two poles of one force: one's a total snob while the other is party girl—"

"—I can tell that much from here. Thank you very much, Renji—"

"—the silver-haired, six-footer one with them is Kotetsu Isane. She's the women's basketball team captain. She's a goddess—"

"—Agreed. But—"

"—let's shift to the sophomores. Turn your head the other way. Yeah, that's it. That's Kurotsuchi Nemu. Quite a body, huh? She doesn't talk much; her friend, that cute girl with her, Kiyone Kotetsu, does all the talking for her—"

"Jesus Christ, Renji, give your chick-hunting a rest already." Someone strikes a false note by saying aloud what's needed to be said, badly. It's the Hitsugaya kid.

"I'm merely giving him an initiation." Renji answers coolly. Hitsugaya merely shrugs at the other's offer of clarity.

And then I see _them_.

All the time I've been sitting here an almost eerie weight has been tugging on my attention. It's only now that I subconsciously decide to give it its due; my notice. There, on the far corner of the hall, is a group of young adults who all stand quite apart from the entire crowd. It's easy to tell it's not their beauty, a thing so seemingly common in this school, nor their almost magisterial behavior that cuts them loose from the rest. To some extents, these qualities are possibly ancillary to their strangeness, though _completely_ separate. There's something else. On the other hand, their silence has very little to do with it either; it's scarcely even that. So I consume a criminal time to let my wits descend on me. A little bit of gaping won't help, and too much of it will invariably render me an—

"Don't even think about it."

"What?" I ask Renji.

"In life, you often meet people who just wouldn't move in the same circle with you, people like Rangiku-san and Nemu-san. If you're lucky, you get to be in the same room with a precious few who exist in a different realm altogether. You're looking at the Aizen children. It would be wise to count them among the precious few."

I wonder what's fueling Renji's reverential passion for snooping around his fellow students' statuses.

"I'm just looking around." I say, clinging to the shred of what I think is right; denial.

"Good." He tells me.

"Who are they?"

"I've just told you; they're the Aizen kids."

"That's all?"

He sighs. "Part of the thick line that segregates us commoners from them is that they exist solely to make up the school's population—or their god created them. You shouldn't bother with them; they're completely ignorable—"

"—here, Renji." the Kuchiki girl intercepts. She continues and turns to me, "They're okay; a pleasant lot, if you ask me. Only this: they don't interact with anyone else—considering all from a normal vantage point, at least not in an intimate level. They're siblings, legally speaking; they are the adopted children of a brilliant local doctor, Aizen Sousuke, and his wife. The only girl in the group is Neliel. I believe she's the eldest child, a senior. The one with pink hair is Szayel. He's the youngest and is in our batch. The tall one with narrow eyes is Stark, also a senior, who comes next to Neliel in terms of age. The last one, the boy with green eyes, is Ulquiorra, a sophomore, the middle child. They're missing one; Grimmjow, also a sophomore. He's been absent for more than a week now, which just further authenticates the rumors that he got into some serious accident. There you have it; _five_ physically perfect beings outside the pages of a magazine."

I quickly discharge myself from the commotion my curiosity has stirred. Having reached a degree at which nothing more can be asked, I busy myself with the remainder of my meal.

My introductory acquaintance with the Aizen siblings doesn't suggest anything is likely to make our paths cross. On that respect, I suppose this whole new environment is taking in a simple and gentle pace after all.

Not.

Why is _he_ staring at me? I don't know why I'm so certain of it, but, hell, if he could just disengage his goddamn huge eyes from me I'd very much be thankful.

"Is it just me or Ulquiorra Scheiffer is watching you?" Uuryu Ishida barrels out the very subject of my thoughts.

I've been making it more difficult for me before it's finally too late to realize that staring back isn't a crime. I swivel my head to the Ulquiorra dude's direction. He has returned his gaze to his companions. I do the same, though not completely; I'm snatching glimpses of him from the corners of my eyes, and with labor at that too.

He is doing the same. He's watching my every move.

And then he smiles a faint smile.

**TBC**


	2. Ulquiorra Scheiffer

**Chapter II: Ulquiorra Scheiffer**

I hope I'm not alone in the knowledge that these students in their late teens are of more interests than anything the school can potentially drop at my goddamn feet. For one thing, their beauty is simply subliminal, and besides that there's infinitely more; that much I can be sure of. They are addressed collectively as the Aizen Kids.

The bell rings. We marshal ourselves to our respective classrooms as I become wholly convinced that I've signed up for more than just meeting new friends. It's strange, but I can feel two cold green eyes burying their gaze at me like a frozen blast of strong wind. How much it adds to my uneasiness I can't gauge, never will, perhaps. If it isn't gonna be too much I can just confront him, you know, tell him to stop it with his goddamn staring because, dammit, it's as good as taking a picture of my goddamn crotch or something. Come on, man, if you're gonna read me from head to toe like a fucking headline you might as well do it in _front_ of me.

Better give it a rest, I suppose.

The rest of the day is pure bull. I can just loiter around the campus and treat myself to a few minutes of private time instead of sharing an air-tight room full of chicks and dudes and their over-exerted excitement. But I can't do that so I just sit here, considering the horrible alternatives to trying to kill boredom which is, technically, replacing it with a new boredom.

Just then, the third professor of the afternoon enters. I know this is something one shouldn't be saying too often and, even more so, aloud but he's just goddamn beautiful. I swear, man. Now here's someone who can give the Aizen kids a run for their money.

Kuchiki Byakuya. It so happens that Rukia, the girl with whom I dined along with seven others earlier in the cafeteria, is this bloke's younger sister. I can't see the resemblance, if there is indeed any. I mean Rukia is cute and all, but she flatly stops right there. This guy up front is friggin—

Dammit. I'll cut it with my mental appraisals of physical attributes. Jesus. You'd think I had turned fag or something. Anyway, to sum it all up, I admit there's quite a number of things that may end up in agreement with me. There's the fact that I sort of particularly enjoy the scenery around here: pretty girls to my left, right and center.

By the end of day, everyone is waving goodbye to everyone, so I ride along with it and start saying goodbye to anyone who lands his gaze on me. I can be a filthy hypocrite sometimes. I don't even know why I'm pulling this kind of crap on people. So, I trace my steps from whence I have first arrived in this place only to find out that, apart from everything, and everyone for that matter, I'm a loner.

That idea isn't gonna be applicable today, mark this.

Some fucker of a stalker has his treads copying mine as though he can't come up with anything more original than mimicking my movements and route. I start to walk faster as my vulnerable nerves catch up on me, and, man, I'll give this fucker my first warning.

"Are you following me?" I ask. Several home-bound fellow students latch their gazes on me and my brilliant stalker.

This is when it's made known to me that I'm just the kind of person who likes to encounter frustration everywhere. Here is one of the Aizen kids, Ulquiorra Scheiffer, employing his god-given talents of creeping the hell out of anyone who dares to coexist with him. Just what the fuck is he doing here anyway? More importantly, why is he tailing my ass?

"Yes."

That has to be 9.8 out of 10 on the horror scale. The problem with my reflexes is that they get delayed every time they shouldn't. Shit. My legs are urging me to fly out right on smack on him. Luckily I had wits enough to search him and make sure he hasn't a dagger or a pistol ready in reach, to which he frowns faintly.

"Just what the hell is your problem?" the petulant git that I am asks.

If the day would just cooperate with me this bastard would give me the answer I want. Unfortunately, such day exists far from here or long from now, and this fact becomes altogether transparent when he fucking smiles the kind of smile that gives you a good reason to be worried. Really, with the way things are going now, that smile doesn't suggest anything less than a pain in the ass.

"Our distance."

Know what? Fuck this. He's said it like it doesn't mean anything, man. Now I'm feeling more compelled to drive my fists into that pristine face of his, despite the fact that I don't really know how it's done.

"Pardon me?"

Around this time, I've already wasted about too much energy trying to balance my wits and temper in due proportion. And then he does something that's gonna destroy both to leave only a clear annihilation,

"Will you be _mine_, Kurosaki Ichigo?"

No kidding, no bullshit, he said that. He really did. Not knowing what to do next, I fumble about like a twitchy little moron when suddenly I become aware of our surroundings. We're still within the school grounds. On the said school ground is approximately a score of students with their necks craning over a single source of interest: me and Ulquiorra.

"Are you fucking around?"

And that's about as decent as my mouth can get. Let me get this straight: I can be decent if needs be and, to expound on that, I still have yet to conk a fist on that pretty face. I am, however, fighting the ruthless urge to poke the daylights out of that pair of luminous green eyes.

"I'm not. Can I have your answer?"

The nerve of some people. as far as I'm concerned, no one is in the position to solicit so big a deal. Why, he's asking for me, all five feet and seven inches of my fucking self to be HIS… in front of more than a dozen onlookers in broad fucking daylight. And that's not considering the horror that he fucking knows my name.

"Fuck you."

Maybe, just fucking maybe, that will suffice for a CLEAR answer. Perhaps the longer I keep in mind that this dude is a raving lunatic, the longer I might stay sane. To start with, this isn't even funny, thus if someone thinks otherwise that someonecan just go to hell with this Ulquiorra dude and his fuckingly twisted sense of humor. I mean, when life was simpler, like five minutes ago, I didn't have to put up with bastards like him asking me to be his property. I once upon a time believed Iwas worth more than that.

"Is something wrong?"

Hints, mine in particular, turn out to be _no_ more distinct to this guy than a friggin' needle in a field of barley, hence the straight face. With this exhibition of ignorance, I don't think he'd identify a death threat even if so much of it was blasted in his face. To add on that, he's now staring at me with such directness that's enough to give me a goddamn complex.

"Nothing. Except that _I_ owe you something BIG; this humiliation."

"Forgive me. May I walk with you?"

I wince, which only shows how much I don't know more than what I can manage completely. The next thing he's gonna ask, I'm sure, is the scale of probability of me hitting the shower with him. Well, fuck this.

"For crying out loud, go away. If you wanna screw around, that's nobody else's business but yours. And if you're still not in the know, there's no fucking way in hell I'm gonna be yours. No. Fucking. Way."

"But, please, hear me out—"

"—so long, sucker!"

I'm a fast runner. I clear out with all the might my legs can muster, pelting somewhere at a speed no bastard can rival. I'm scampering away like a bastard caught on fire so if he happened to catch up on me, man oh man, he should enlist in the next Olympics already—

Holy. Fucking. Hell.

Something ahead of me gets me blinking a couple of hundred times.

He is standing right in front of me. This time, he's really scaring the living shit out of me. First and fucking foremost, I'm quite sure I stormed out on him before he managed to phrase the rest of his appeal, therefore awarding me a number of seconds of advantage. But what matters more than anything is that the title Quickfoot Kurosaki has been stolen from me! By a bastard!

"Please don't do that again, Kurosaki." He says in some sort of a calm, misplaced reproach.

"Don't play dumb, dammit. How the hell did you do that?"

"Do what?"

"You fucking know what. You bore up with me within less than a second upon taking off." My panting is rendering my speech near incoherence.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

He's on his way to driving me clean of my wits, what with his phony modesty. He really is. This time, he hits on something; my oh so sacredly guarded patience.

"Let's clear a few things up. First up: you need to get the hell as far away from me as possible, like forever. Second: don't talk to me at any time between this lifetime and the next. Third: absurd as it sounds, I hate you like fucking hell already. Last: Fuck off."

That's precisely the set of things I need to prop up before he gets into the habit of thinking I'd let him get a shot of what he wants from me. That gets me thinking, what exactly does this fucktard want from me? Okay, I suppose I should be less harsh on the account that he hasn't laid a finger on me. So allow me to say that, in another time and place, I could perhaps be walking by his side and hitting it off real coolly, and for what it's worth… I can just knock him flat on his ass.

"Interesting. I'll say one thing here before I leave you be: I'll see you _later_."

"Give that chance to someone else."

"I'll see you at school tomorrow."

I inform myself that my duty isn't to screw up or to get screwed by a screwing son of a gun who goes by the name Ulquiorra Scheiffer. While doing this, I nearly don't realize that the bastard has gone out of sight, leaving me with lesser wits than a bastard needs, and what the hell. Yeah, sure, what in fucking hell if he runs faster than a bullet and afterwards denies it like a bastard would… there's something really odd about that dude.

Let's do a recap here.

When he did that splendid staring at me back at the cafeteria, I could feel every intent he had in those pupils. Dammit. I'm crazy, that much is provided. Is a stare even palpable? As far as I know, things like that only happen in movies. I'll just give that one a pass, alright. That staring challenge I can at least leave alone. What amplifies my disconcertion, and what I'm more interested in, is his speed. It's inhuman. It's… know what? I don't even want to talk about it any more than you do.

Once at home, I learn that the whole goddamn world doesn't stink after all. We're having this nice dinner now courtesy of Yuzu, my little sis.

"How's work, dad?" Yuzu asks.

"The local hospital is small but the equipments they have there surprised me."

I want to ask more, particularly something about a certain doctor who maybe is working in the same place. But then my reluctance gets doubled when Yuzu starts babbling about her new friends at school until her accounts evolve into some fully-fledged narrative. Consequently, our dinner ends at length without me getting the chance to satiate my curiosity.

I resign to my room. After what seemed like, or it probably was, eight hours, I awake at the morning's sunny greeting. In time I find myself lumbering off the sidewalk to another yet again splendid school day which, I bet, is gonna be as good as any other. Or as bad.

I'm at the school now. For a complex of reasons, reasons I can't quite make out, every chick is busting me right down with a sore, gloating glare. I can give ten reasons on why I should start about throwing my middle finger in the air, but this one, girls shooting me with murderous glares, is as much puzzle to me as… nothing else. I can't think of anything as baffling.

"I heard about what happened between you and Ulquiorra yesterday." Renji tells me as I sit in class. I simply don't know what to say to that. It's bad enough that a dozen people have witnessed such event of utter humiliation without someone like Renji Abarai reminding me about it afterwards.

"News travel fast." I answer briefly in an attempt to downplay my maddening urge to steer the conversation somewhere else.

"That was a love confession, wasn't it?"

Forget about steering the conversation somewhere else; my priority should be set on fighting the temptation of kicking this moron in the nuts.

"Know what, Renji? Why don't you just say you mean to make fun of me all morning so you can—"

"—ease out, man. I'll tell you one thing: Ulquiorra Scheiffer is desired by half the women in this school, so if I were you I'd lend my worries to other than having him sending flowers at your doorstep."

That explains the girls' fishy, sinister glares.

"Just what the fuck made you think he's eyeing me on _that_ way?"

"Oh. I heard all about it. He's hard-hit into you. He had never asked anyone out until you came along. I've always known there's something odd about that guy."

"Think what you want."

The day marches on just like any other except, perhaps, for the constant darting of the eyes of the class's female population at my direction. I don't reckon having scowled in the past as much as I'm doing now.

As the bell rings to announce lunch break, I hurriedly rise up from my seat to extricate myself from the girls' stupid gazes.

"Kurosaki-kun, someone's looking for you." Ishida announces to _everyone_ in particular.

And who in bloody hell can that be? I shoot off the classroom, and the moment I do so my mind does a major backsliding. My wits are taking too damn long before they get underway, I'm telling you. Ulquiorra Scheiffer, the Greatest Fucker of Everything, is standing outside room 212, my classroom, apparently aiming to sentence the rest of my day to fucking meltdown.

"What the hell do you want?"

Countless heads are swiveling to where we are.

"Have lunch with me."

Somebody has to do it. Somebody has to really tell this bastard to stop.

"Jeez, stop it already. This isn't even funny."

"It's only lunch. There's something _important_ I need to tell you."

"It's not gonna happen. Not in ten million years or so."

He looks at me intently. If he's thinking that's gonna work I ain't looking back. Ever. I saunter away with gritted teeth, believing all has ended then and there. But something pulls me to an abrupt stop; his fingers are wrapped around my wrist. Man, how far is he willing to go for this sick pursuit?! To tell the truth, it's not his overt and total lack of shame that's irking me at the moment; it's his stone-cold skin. Man, you'd think he got chucked out right from the fridge or Antarctica. I've now about produced eight hundred supports on my theory that this dude is a professional patience-pushing prick when,

"…"

"…"

**I've punched him in the face**. Point blank. That's something I'd call _instinct_. To explain, I've done it purely out of impulse, I swear, man. I mean, I'm not one to go around punching dudes who are out to grab my wrist. I have better temperament than that.

"I-I'm sorry." I mutter amidst the hail of gasps all around us.

He's nursing his chin without the slightest indication of pain, which partially makes me feel like wanting to take back my apology. Before he takes the opportunity to talk again, I bustle out of sight. He doesn't follow me, hallelujah to that.

I whisk my way to the damned fire exit to award myself the silence I badly need. As I hit the landing, I'm greeted by the presence of someone else. I haven't been having a good day, so it doesn't strike me as odd that the mere presence of someone besides myself is making me sick to my soul at the moment.

The nobody is climbing his way up while I descend the same flight of stairs with my head down and without care for the fucking world—

"Aaaargh!"

"Shit." I hear him say gruffly.

There's luck, toiling its way to sheer ingenuity before making me trip into something not even a paraplegic would dream of tripping into. I've fallen headlong into the guy, and now I'm shoved right on top of him with our limbs tangled like four pairs of stray hair strands in need of straightening.

"Watch it, hey." He says.

"Sorry." I mumble, my mouth vying against cursing the lights out of the heavens.

I sit up to relieve him of my weight before staring at the face that now looms inches from mine. The nearness is unnerving, and one of the hundreds of reasons for that is, he can probably hear every beat my anger-pulsated heart is making. I can afford a warm apology on the event that what happened between me and Ulquiorra earlier is wiped off the goddamn history.

My eyes are being dragged to his teal-colored hair. I can't look him in the eye just yet, in fear of his anger and the probability that he's just about all set up to drive his knuckles into my mouth. He straightens himself up, but he still hasn't gotten up.

And then I see his face.

"Is something wrong with my face?" He asks.

Damn. I always pick the most gorgeous time to stare.

"No. Excuse me." I say before finally heaving up to rise. He does the same.

It's only now when I become fully conscious of his size that I finally grasp the entirety of the strangeness that has surged onto me.

He's one of _them_, one of the Aizen Kids. He _has_ to be.

I make one last gesture of apology to bow out of the scene, but at the moment I wheel around I catch a smirk issue from his lips.

"If ever you need another futon to land on, say, when you fall second time around, I'm volunteering for the role." he calls out to me.

Perverts are everywhere.

**TBC**

A/N: got a few scenes from Wild Kiss, some yaoi manga. yeah, i'm disclaiming that. thanks for reviewing, Light is Gay, Seshori, everyone.


	3. Grimmjow Jaggerjack

**A/N:** I have decided against following the **Twilight **road for the reason that I've only gone as far as finishing the first and second book, and I have no intentions of flipping a page off the 3rd installment. Never again. In any case, I should thank you for reading and reviewing.

**Chapter III: Grimmjow Jaggerjack**

Why isn't everyone making a single effort to be goddamn sane? How hard can that be, exactly? Worst of all is that everyone's fucking up my chances of staying sound.

"Pardon me?" I ask the bastard, my heartbeat quickening by the second for reasons that do not exist.

"Nothing. I'm off."

I don't have tits; that's as clear as day, so why are these sons of bitches hitting on me as if the case were otherwise?

He clears out just as he said. I watch him exit cautiously, in case he's in the round to utter another wisecracking bullcrap. More than anything I'm sure of, he's one cocky bastard, I can tell. Who the hell wears that sort of hair color? He does. Jesus Christ, this place is sick.

The day passes on with me dodging the mighty headache incarnate, Ulquiorra Scheiffer, like a bastard on the run from the guillotine. I'm also trying to ignore my classmates' expression of awe at my take on him earlier.

"So it's true? You hit Ulquiorra-san in the face?" Inoue asks me.

"He was asking for it."

And they go about asking for the full accounts of the goddamned encounter. It was just a fist driven into the bastard's cheek, goddammit, and he deserved it like how a random murderer deserves the chair. Normally, I don't get hiked over something so dismally insignificant. But, if you take a good look at the goddamn picture, I'm being pursued, almost relentlessly, by a formidable dude who appears to think I'm Cinderella, and I seriously think it's something that's worth my discomfort in the very least.

I trudge my way home, feeling fully prepared for any sort of episode concerning Ulquiorra Scheiffer's obsession with me… or so to speak. Without a fucking doubt, I am wrong about being prepared. Here is the destroyer of my peace, alone in the middle of the parking lot, leaning against a magnificent black Hummer. It seems positively odd to me that my legs are refraining from scramming while my mind urges me to wipe myself away from here as soon as possible.

As always, he is staring at me with his so regularly expressionless face that's no longer new to anyone who has seen him.

"Would you like a lift?" Ulquiorra Scheiffer offers me. The Hummer looks more tempting than my hesitation is profound.

"Hell no."

"Okay."

"…"

That's convenient. More than that, really. He's not even putting up his killer persistence! This is going exceedingly well! His ride is super, though; I'd like to feel those leather seats if it weren't for the fact that a bastard owns it. Whatever the case is, I'm stalking off towards the exit before he changes his mind about leaving me alone.

"Hangin' around for replay?" A new voice shoots just as I'm beginning to think my departure will proceed nicely. It sounds vaguely familiar, though. So I spin around to locate its owner—something I shouldn't have done.

It's _him_.

"You know Kurosaki, Grimmjow?" Ulquiorra asks the teal-haired bastard over whom I fell earlier at lunch break.

Grimmjow. Now that's a name that can send me off laughing on days on end. But I can't really do that because something mind-boggling is weighing this entire scene down. There are now five of them standing outside the humongous vehicle. Let me introduce a direct thought right here, right now: two seconds ago, I was cocksure it was only me and Ulquiorra out here on the open concrete lot, and then, before I got the chance to hear anyone approaching, five good-looking teens are idling meters behind me. Come on, man, any moron with a half a good ear would have sensed a few rustles upon the arrival of FOUR people.

So this is the complete line-up of the Aizen Kids.

Maybe I've gone deaf—

"Kurosaki, huh? Is that his name?" the cocky git asks his brother.

"If you two wanna walk home you can at least let us know." The pink-haired, chick-like dude tells Ulquiorra and Grimmjow. Although he doesn't look annoyed, there is, nevertheless, a peculiar glint in his eyes.

Grimmjow is already climbing at the backseat of the car. This must be their family car. I can feel my guts cringing with envy. They're fucking teenagers! What sort of parents would bestow this much indulgence on their kids anyway? parents who have kids who look like these five, of course. Well, their beauty is just sublime, and my heart is on the brink of breaking for this is the first time my being average has ever bothered me. Jesus, I can't quite pull my gazes from them.

"You sure you don't want a lift?" Ulquiorra presses. Behind him his eldest brother, I believe Stark is his name, shuts the compartment in which he has stuffed his backpack unceremoniously, seeming as though he has gone through a most harrowing day in school. Their sister, on the other hand, is looking at me with undisguised cordiality. She still hasn't made any action indicative of their departure which suggests she's waiting for my answer—consent, maybe.

"Damn sure."

At this, his sister wedges herself on the passenger seat.

"I'll see you tomorrow, then." Ulquiorra says as he grabs the wheel. He casts a last glance at me, almost in disappointment, and then he revs the engine.

Through the rearmost window, I can discern Grimmjow's face, which is plagued with his prime asset: his evil grin. I watch the vehicle zoom away, guessing what his grin conceals.

At home I'm sitting around the dining table with dad, Yuzu, and Karin.

"Pops, do you know a certain Aizen Sousuke down at the local hospital?" I'm trying to keep my curiosity at a distance, at least as much as I can.

"Yeah. He's the head of the team of surgeons in the neuro department where I work. Why do you ask, son?"

I glance at dad guardedly. "Nothing. His kids and I go to the same school and they're… interesting, kinda."

"No surprises there. They say Dr. Aizen is arguably the best thing that's ever happened to the entire town. We work in the same department. Two days at it and what I'm seeing so far is enough testimony to attest to that reputation. He's a good man; I bet his kids are _as_ pleasant."

I almost snort on my meal. I suppose nobody knows how much of a bastard two of Aizen's sons are except those who are about to know. Perhaps, indeed probably, the magnificent doctor's reputation has obscured his good-looking kids' demerits out of recognition. Two run-ins with his sons have given me much authority to testify on that, mind you.

"Yeah, I would bet on that." I answer. My sarcasm has gone beyond miles over that it does a complete turnaround, resulting to me sounding thoroughly sincere.

"My colleagues say his children are all adopted. That really doesn't have to be said, at least not when you've met the man. I'm guessing he's well only in his _thirties_."

That answers it. It would be bankable to suspect that a man in his thirties can hardly impose adequate discipline on five teenage kids.

"I doubt he has sufficient parental skills to exercise over his children. I mean, what is he, thirty-plus and five teens? That's tougher than—"

"—well, son, as far as what I've been hearing, he has a very charming family."

That just about signals the end of discussion. People in the world, they're not seeing what's beyond the goddamn surface. In this, as in other matters, the beautiful is always never damned. That's a fact I've always loathed to the limit. I'll change that. If it means me versus the overwhelming odds, so be it.

Well, wait and see.

...

Today is especially a bright day, the brightest one I've seen in this sun-forsaken town. But brighter still is my mood, for Ulquiorra Scheiffer is nowhere to be seen anywhere in the campus. It appears that the sun rejoices in his absence.

"Don't you think it's a little weird, Renji, that a man in his mid-thirties is capable of putting reins on five teens?"

"What are you saying, Ichigo?" Renji asks, wearing his mute, mildly baffled expression which is at once apparent.

"Dr. Aizen Sousuke. Like, can he even provide his kids with a normal life?"

"His family composition had caused a stir in this very tiny town when they first arrived, alright, but as time grew ripe there appeared to be no blunder at all. They're all good people. Such as it is, the town looks at them in no less respect than anyone else."

As he finishes reciting, Renji turns his head towards Neliel, Szayel, Stark & Grimmjow at their corner in the cafeteria, but without a serious thought in the execution, at least not an obvious one. I'm feeling impelled to do the same. The longer I keep my eyes on them, the more apparent the vast amount of detachment between them becomes. They're hardly opening their mouths, as if words were forbidden among them, as if the contents of the trays in front of them were ridden with poison. To be sure, their food slops untouched on the table.

Watching them turns out to be a fatal mistake. Grimmjow Jaggerjack stands up, hands in pockets, and darts towards where I am. He sits beside me with his back leaning against the table. Renji stiffens up beside me.

"Kurosaki, right? I'm sorry, but Ulquiorra's not feeling very well today." Grimmjow sympathizes with me, or so he thinks, about the _last_ subject that can be of any potential bother to me.

"That's hardly my concern. I don't see the importance of informing me of that." I say. Sometimes I surprise myself for managing to pull some major audacity out of nowhere.

"Your actions awhile ago were spelling otherwise." It sounds more of a calculation than an accusation. Still, it fails to narrow down my irritation.

"What do you want, Grimmjow—that's your name, right?"

"At your service." He says it with a grin.

"Do you need anything from me?"

"Why were your eyes wandering around like that? I'm sure you were searching for my brother." He says it like he can't be surer of anything. And now his smirk looms more formidable, as if to tally with his fearsome, icy beauty. You just wouldn't have helped it if you were sitting right this close to him where you could discern every frame of his perfectly chiseled face. Seriously.

I'm starting to hate him. Maybe this feeling has roots with his appearance and the manner he employs its effects on people. Is envy interchangeable with hatred? A fat lot of use the answer may give me. Nevertheless, he has to leave. Now.

"Please, go away." That's as courteous as I can get.

That chars away the permanent smirk on his mouth… at least temporarily.

"Sure, after you answer my question." So the bastard speaks.

I simply can't begin to determine what sort of time-wasting device he's inventing for me. If there was a reason for me to look for his brother it would be to give him the hell he's pining for.

"I wasn't looking for your goddamn brother, okay? Is that clear enough for that _tiny_ microscopic _something_ between your goddamn ears?"

Renji rises up. "Er, why don't we head back to class?" He proposes, his voice hinting on some immediate importance…or panic.

"Let's do that." I agree, and while I'm at it I figure it would be nice to throw a lovely menacing glare at Grimmjow. Yeah, that's what I'm gonna do—

"Is this how you pay respect to someone who has sat with you at lunch against his better judgments?" Grimmjow says, as if in protest. It may have been an appeal, from which it sounds very far. Well, I'm scramming to prevent him from finding another reason to be fascinated.

"Ciao." I choke out at him in dismissal, firmly so.

"Alright. I'll bump into you some other time. But," he pauses, perhaps in an attempt to gather up effect, before resuming, "I'm _not_ gonna go easy on the fact that you called me an idiot."

"I fucking did not—"

I am unable to complete my protest because he has started to plough his way to his siblings.

I'm standing motionlessly with gritted teeth.

"You know, you did call him an idiot…in a manner I wouldn't dream of using." Renji tells me.

...

I peek around the corner, skateboard in arms, to make sure I have the entire alley for myself. It's a Saturday today; it's supposed to be a fun day. After asserting my privacy, I start about doing wall-rides on the perimeter concrete fences, knocking down a few trash bins in the process, and what the hell. This is simply invigorating. Not to brag or anything but I can do a few jaw-dropping tricks with these tiny four wheels.

I skate my way downtown. There's this notoriously steep avenue in the Rukongai district which isn't very much frequented by people for the reason that it's barred. Maybe I can pull off some major speed on it. Yeah, I'll break my personal record of so and so mph today.

The slope does not disappoint me. I'm staring at a rise-over-run ratio of 1/3—that's not less than a 30-degree on the protractor. I survey the area. I can do this without breaking my neck. Here goes.

I'm racing down in an amazing speed and I can only stop after a few moments upon finding leveled ground. My pals from my former town would probably be squealing in wet pants if they could see me now. Now the blurred scenery at my sides are hardly distinguishable—

"Shit."

Up ahead is a fucking dumping wasteland! There are all sorts of stinking garbage in it. Oh lovely god. You wouldn't believe my gorgeous luck. It's only been a fucking week since I checked on the site, and what I found was a barren, harmless, vast expanse of empty landscape and _now_—aaargh! It's no use; I can't pull my brakes because there ain't friggin' any. I just have to accept the fact that I'll be going home smelling like a goddamn cow in a shit-swamp—

"Shit."

This has been a joke for the last ten seconds—until it stops being one. As I draw closer, I begin to distinguish a considerable number of metal scraps sticking out of the filth-piles. I really have to pull over as I wanna be able to make it to dinner in one fucking piece. I mean, I'd seriously bargain for a few broken ribs or dislocated collarbones in exchange for getting impaled in tetanus junkyard wastes.

I skip back on my heels to pull my weight the other way. Hurriedly I release my beloved Birdhouse skateboard, leaving it to the mercy of physics, as I catch a glimpse of its unfortunate trajectory. One hundred and fifty US dollars down the drain. Left with no options, I've landed on my left shoulder and, before long, I'm rolling over towards a direction I'm dreading completely. The velocity of my travel downward is just too high for sheer friction to counter. Sure enough, the friggin' rough asphalt is scalding my nearly flawless skin without a fucking drop of mercy. That I can hardly concentrate on procuring the much desired and needed halt was perhaps the most coherent thought passing over my head at the moment.

I'm now only a few yards from the deadly pit when something—someone—breaks my descent to hell. I can as much tell what has just happened as I can goddamn decipher hieroglyphics. All I know is that I'm no longer pelting down a near-death state. But against my weight is the feel of two arms. I'm too fucking dizzy to make out who it is. Whoever he is, he can't be human, for as far as I know humans can't cut through such fall in so neat a method. It's crazy. I guess I'm crazy. But maybe not crazy enough not to disregard the truth that, when he scooped me out of this dangerously steep avenue, he _should_ have got caught in the accident I invited. But he didn't. Instead, he saved me, and it seems as though he didn't get hurt in the process.

Who is he? Or better yet, _what_ is he?

Through the blurred spectacle my vision can procure, I see a familiar pair of blue eyes staring straight into mine, the very same eyes that remain incomplete in so long as a devious mouth is without them.

But, this time, Grimmjow Jaggerjack _isn't_ smirking; his face is all smeared with distress as he looks down on sorry state. What a waste I am. And then my vision goes black.

**TBC**


	4. The House of Aizen Sousuke

**A/N**: Here is chapter 4, as requested by RamecupMiso

**Chapter IX: The House of Aizen Sousuke**

I hear voices around me, voices I can't recognize. The smell of sterilized bed sheets reeks from everywhere, hinting on medical treatment. I'm in a clinic. I open my eyes.

"You're awake." Someone says.

I bolt upright in suddenness from which a pang of sharp pain at the back of my skull issues.

"Damn." I mutter, rubbing my palm against my head.

"I hope you're feeling better."

I look up at this unknown, overly courteous dude who's been making quite a serious effort to soothe all these shitty sensation coursing through my limbs, back, and practically everywhere my nerves are present. He's extremely pleasant-looking.

"You mended me, sir?" I ask, though the answer is pretty obvious. He has a stethoscope around his neck and looks decent enough to qualify as a doctor, but maybe too good-looking for the profession. He can hardly be over thirty; there are no visible lines on his face while his chestnut hair is splayed back in a very sleek style, which is common among movie stars—I dunno.

"Yes. I am Aizen Sousuke. Don't worry; I'm a certified doctor." He assures me despite the absence of meticulousness in my query, before turning halfway around on his heels to gesture to another person in the room. His motion reveals a woman sitting on a chair across me. Aizen continues, "This is my wife, Halibel. You will stay here until I determine that your condition warrants you freedom to leave this place without assistance."

I blink twice. I'm looking at the parents of Grimmjow and Ulquiorra, a fact which could have been altogether credible if it weren't for these two's obvious age. I look at Halibel, or should I say Mrs. Aizen, who strikes me as some Brazilian swimsuit model I once came across—on a Sports Illustrated issue. This could've been a dream, only that this is for _real_, that she is in the same room with me, alive and, for all the world knows, much more breathtaking than the entire Victoria's Secret girls' line up.

"I shouldn't trouble you this much by prolonging my stay. If I could just contact my dad, he's a doctor like you, I can relieve you of my—"

"There's no need for that. We have informed him of your current state, therefore he will be here in a few hours to fetch you. Also, there's no trouble in your staying here a bit longer." Mrs. Aizen assures.

"A—a few _hours_?" I ask. I simply can't begin to fathom what can have detained him at this very critical time of his son's life.

And as if capable of reading my thoughts, Dr. Aizen speaks, "Your father and I work at the same hospital. Right now, he has a major surgery in his hands and I myself am heading there right now to present any assistance I can offer. In the meantime, Halibel will look after you."

Halibel nods at his husband, as if she has been given a crucial bidding. She tells him, "Be sure not to get too laid back in there just because it's you're day-off today."

"There's no such thing as an off-duty day in this profession, darling."

A neat, unrestrained exchange of tender glances ensues before Dr. Aizen nods at me to disappear into the doorway. His wife is keeping her eyes after him even after he has gone completely out of sight. What a lucky man Aizen Sousuke is.

I start, "Mrs. Aizen—"

"You may call me Halibel." She smiles as she says this, and evident in her face is the joy of living with her man to whom her mind still wanders.

"Er, Halibel—san, uhm, I'm really feeling quite good. If you may be so kind as to allow me to take leave…" I stammer in an attempt to sound as formal as to comply with the use of language confined in this house—

I'm in _their_ house? Surely, this is not an extension clinic in some hospital. Ulquiorra and Grimmjow and the rest of their children might as well be somewhere upstairs. Speaking of which, wasn't it Grimmjow who—

"I truly understand how you feel, Kurosaki-kun. However, your injuries demand rest. Please lie down for now—"

"—but, ma'am, I assure you I'm doing superbly, thanks to Dr. Aizen. I'm really thankful…" My voice dies in my throat as she stares at me with an almost commiserating glance, which is, I'm telling you, rather difficult to overcome. It's now that I realize my range of vocabs can hardly do justice to her beauty. In other words, I've just got no use for what's around to win this debate.

"If your father consumes the rest of the day or tomorrow to get his hands empty with surgeries, I'll be driving you home tonight. I promise." She tells me. I sink back in embarrassment after having decided that all my mental protests are useless.

She rouses up and draws closer to me. She then props a tray over my lap which reveals a concoction of some meal of weird variety.

"I'm really sorry for the trouble, ma'am, but I'm not hungry."

"Of course you are." She persists.

Yeah, I really am. I'm starved, in fact. But I really can't push this whole thing down my throat if she's just gonna stand there watching me employ my splendid table manners.

"Er, Mrs. Aiz—Halibel-san?" I shoot out and, although I'm trying, I can't quite steady myself to talk perfectly straight to her. I continue anyway, seeing as she's waiting for the continuation of my speech, "Where's Grimmjow? He—well—he kinda saved me from that would've-been awful wreck, and I think—I think I have to, you know, thank him."

She smiles warmly at this. "He's in his room upstairs. I must say, you were being reckless, don't you think?" she finishes as a frown of a maternal reproof quality marks the end of her remark.

"I'm really sorry. I didn't know what I was thinking."

"You'd do well by being careful next time. At any rate, I believe you and our children see each other at school. I suppose Grimmjow knows you well; he was skipping steps when he brought you here. It was fortunate that Sousuke hadn't departed yet when you arrived, unconscious, of course."

The information hits me as if I'm being confronted by a debt that's not payable, like a vagabond confronted by a cliff. To start with, the very same person who saved me had been the recipient of my curses. I called him an idiot, a bastard, a prick, a pervert, and just about anything unholy. And now it doesn't help that I'm remembering Grimmjow before I passed out on the avenue. He had this genuine anguish staining his beautiful face, and it couldn't have been characteristic, even remindful, of his usual, or should I say default, arrogant manner.

"I have to go up to him and personally tell him I'm feeling all better, thanks to him." I say more determinedly than I would have allowed myself to show. Man, I must still be in a state of daze due to my injuries.

"He'll come up to you when he's ready. He, uhm, Jack—that's what we call him here—is not very comfortable with blood, cuts, wounds and exposed flesh. That, most likely, was part of the reason why he was looking thoroughly flushed earlier. Now that you're bandaged and treated, I'm sure he'll be here to check on you."

"Oh."

"I will grant you privacy for now, Kurosaki-kun. Please finish your meal." She takes a step back, and with that she finally beams at me without knowing that, as she does that, she almost takes my breath away.

With her gone, I munch on my meal with as much enthusiasm as my appetite can afford. It takes me fifteen full minutes to clear the plate. Just as I'm stowing the utensils onto the side table, the door swings open, introducing an uninvited presence.

Not many seconds later, Grimmjow Jaggerjack is in the doorway. From what I understand in his mother's words earlier, blood and open wounds grate him. But my current state, bandaged though not fully healed, can scarcely account for the expression he's wearing now. It's as if he's seeing a pool of blood, which he so detests, from a most harrowing mutilation. Obviously quaking inside, he steps forward, hands in his pockets, his head facing halfway straight at me.

"Thank you, Grimmjow. If it weren't for you I would probably be a vegetable for quite a time ahead." I force the words out.

"Hmp. Didn't I tell you I'd be your cushion if you were to fall again?" He cracks a grin, but not without difficulty. He pulls the armchair beside my bed, still looking everywhere except at me. Sitting down from a considerable distance, he tucks his arms over one another across his chest. Yet, his slightly knitted brows are lending emphasis to his discomfort. Does he hate wounds and cuts this much?

"For Christ's sake, these are just minor cuts. It's not like blood is squirting from every hole in my body."

That sets his lids twitching over his eyes, looking definitely offended. "Excuse me? Whoever said I'm scared of blood?"

"Your mother did."

"Oh yeah? I bet you misheard her. Your ears got busted or something?"

"Then why is your head turned that way? It's rude not to look at people when you're practically talking to them."

"It's not about that, dammit. The point is, you were being a complete and utter _idiot_. What the fuck got into you, anyway? You could've got seriously done for with your stupid skateboard." His voice has escalated to a reprimanding volume. I can see his fingers tightening around his arms in the heat of trying to look composed for as long as he can pretend. Despite it all, his facial contortions and anguished gesticulations are pointing towards something akin to fury. Wherever this is springing from I can't quite make out.

"I've been a freakin' moron, okay? I—it won't effing happen again." I spit back, sounding almost equally worked up. While I owe him an explanation on the premise that he saved me, it didn't have to be an epical one.

He looks away, I look away, both of us embarrassed by what clearly is an understanding. From here, his profile renders evident, almost tangible, all the letdowns of a common face which more than 2/3 of the world's population possesses. There is an edge of masculinity in his features that borders on perfection. A lot of females must have once thought it was worth their lives to speak to him. He's too good-looking to bestow anyone the slightest care, too good-looking to sit right across me.

"Man, you're really troublesome. You need people looking after you." He says it almost to himself alone, in so low a tone the words are barely there.

"I don't. I can look after myself, thank you very much."

"In all assurances, huh? And you're this genius someone who trips on stairs without anyone shoving him and rides downhill towards spikes without brakes." He says, taking a shot at humor, maybe.

I don't know why he's treating my carelessness and my complete and utter disregard for my welfare as though they're his one great frustration. I mean, looking at him, I can easily formulate that genuine concern is hardly something he can generate at all events. Yet now I can't be too sure of that… there's one thing, though.

"How the hell did you do it?" I ask my chief concern.

"Did what?"

"Just who—_what_ are you people?"

His eyes narrow by half their size. "Is that meant to be an insult?"

"You—just answer me."

"I don't even know _what_ you're asking me." He says, and it's as good as refusing to answer.

"You and Ulquiorra, you zoom off almost as fast as bullets. You snatched me back there in Rukongai street, away from harm in a speed too dangerous to prevent. Are you even human? If you are, at least your speed isn't." I recite with obvious difficulty and reluctance in the light of the absurdities my words are implying.

His dislike to acknowledge the truth in my statement becomes apparent all at once. Even so, I look at him straight, trying perhaps to pierce through whatever denials he has in tow.

"Don't we look _human_ enough for you?"

"No."

He gives a start and glares at me in very much the same manner as someone who's accused of something heinous would.

"Is that so, Kurosaki? I apologize for _your_ disagreement against my—our—appearances—"

"—you completely miss the goddamn point. You're too—dammit—what exactly are you?"

He sighs, visibly chagrined by my persistence. "I'm French, well, half; I'm partly oriental. I'm adopted; we all are; me, Ulquiorra, Szayel, Stark and Neliel. We're from different races around the globe, and—"

"I _don't_ mean that, Jesus. You guys have some foreign blood in you; any jerk can tell that from a million miles. And while that's uncommon, it still turns up. What I'm pointing at is…"

Frankly, I don't know. They all look distinct, and you can pretty much tell they're not blood-related, though each of them possesses a feature that captivates observers. They produce the same effect. Somehow different from one another as they are, some sort of a unifying element binds them, at least in appearance. And there's no defining it.

"Listen, I gotta bounce. You're not as well as you make it out to be." He mutters, and about him is a hesitation unbecoming of him. I can't whole-heartedly be convinced that he seriously intends to depart.

"Fine." I answer. Maybe it's better to give it a rest at this point.

He stands up with his gaze still on me, as if my consent constitutes an unwanted dismissal. But he suspends his retreat no sooner than he has taken an initial step.

Ulquiorra Scheiffer is leaning against the door frame, looking not too pleased with what his eyes are presenting him.

"What are you doing here?" Ulquiorra asks.

At first I thought he has spoken to me, and as I open my mouth to voice out the reason why I'm here, taking refuge under his parents' hospitality, Grimmjow hisses in no less hostility than the one driven towards him,

"Kurosaki here needs a few introductions about his Knight in Shining Armor. You've a problem with that, Scheiffer?" Grimmjow has receded back to his old mocking self.

"That person needs rest, Jaggerjack. I thought you'd be wiser than inconveniencing someone who's injured." Uquiorra answers. He glances at his brother, unblinking and resolute, imploring no further conversation as he has already stated his standpoint.

"But surely, brother, would you have said the same thing to _yourself_ if you were the one who got here first?"

"I have no time for this elliptical conversation." Ulquiorra retaliates in a demeaning tone.

"Well then, you can start _disappearing_ now."

"Not before you leave him alone, too."

"I was just about to evaporate, you know. But when I got up you were at the doorway, trying to look cool in front of Kurosaki and all." Grimmjow says with the derisive smile he's famous for. As for Ulquiorra, he finds himself unable to return the smile.

"Honestly, I wasn't trying to appear cool or anything but, if that's how you see me, I suppose I _should_ say 'thank you'." Ulquiorra shoots back in an attempt at reprisal.

Grimmjow's face is now almost as blank as Ulquiorra's.

These smartass exchanges are never gonna end unless someone puts a stop to them. So I say,

"Did you come to check on me, Ulquiorra? If so, you may come in."

Suddenly Grimmjow is looking as though something got stuck in his windpipe. His brother glances at me to reveal that their expressions now are identical, except in degree; my invitation descends on them much more to Ulquiorra's favor.

He steps in, fists in pockets, and brushes past the distraught Grimmjow, who slams the door shut behind him, almost knocking it down its hinges.

**TBC**

**A/N **: I always feel like wanting to abandon this every time a new Bleach chapter comes out. Hopefully, I'll get to finish this sh*t before Kubo Tite manages to pitch his brilliant mind into some mind-blowing plot twist.


	5. Neliel Tu Oderschvanc

**Chapter V: Neliel Tu Oderschvank**

With Grimmjow gone, Ulquiorra takes his post on the visitor's chair beside my bed, against said development I'm having profound misgivings. Come to think of it, it's only been a few days before when I planted my knuckles in his cheeks, and it's something no one would've forgotten so easily.

For a time, nothing moves save for the curtains which are being swayed by the wind. I've seen him up close before this, but only under circumstances where I wasn't really in the mood to marvel at his features. Now with his face this close, without my annoyance to hinder the credits it deserves, it's possible he's the most beautiful boy I have ever laid eyes on.

His beauty is not something you'd witness in two people within the span of your lifetime. Especially the eyes.

"Are you feeling well?" he inquired, the demonstration of genuine concern in his tone seemingly not rehearsed; I can tell that with one bad ear.

"Yeah—" I note when 'well' is just about the last thing I'm feeling. "Listen, I'm sorry about that shit I pulled on you last Tuesday. I must've sprouted horns or something. I didn't mean to hit you, or at least I regret it now. There."

I mean it, I really do, and for me to say something like that takes up a huge proportion off my pride. At any rate, I seriously am not taking up a grown-up act of feigning civility. I mean, man, one has to be really in the mood to manage something like that. But, still, I haven't outgrown the suspicion that he has this sick, grotesque interest in me.

He continues to watch me, looking as though he wouldn't have expressed surprise if he could help it.

"Do you despise me, Kurosaki?"

He really has to tone down whatever it is that his green eyes are evincing. What's more is, I've now about figured he's just the type who never says anything you wanna hear.

"That's something I'm not entitled to feel. Though, in several past occasions, you—you irritated me, baffled me, even scared me. Perhaps it had to do with your bizarre custom, your straightforwardness. What exactly do you want from me?"

And now I'm not really one to talk against directness as I am demonstrating so much of it at this instance. Nevertheless, he still scares me, a fact I can't efficiently hide; not when we're practically two feet apart.

He doesn't speak up immediately, making his discomfort blanch his silence. I'm not imagining it; something is hampering his gaze from me. Like Grimmjow before him, he appears to be harboring a peculiar aversion towards injuries, wounds, cuts. Blood?

"Such apology is not yours to proclaim. I had been completely unreasonable, asking too much from you and humiliating you in front of curious audiences. I guess there's a number of things I hold for you that require explanation. However, I can't speak of them here; at least not now." His restraint in speaking openly simply serves to heighten this strong feeling of oppression that's washing over me; it's beyond curiosity, beyond intrigues of every possible kind.

"Why can't you just tell me?" I say—beg, more like.

"You wouldn't believe me."

"Why is that?"

"What I'm keeping from you, that thing which you so strive to gain knowledge of, is something of a truth no man would believe or dare utter. Let's leave it at that."

His manner of speech signifies some outlandish class, of a lost epoch, maybe, and it does nothing but to add ambiguity to the already insoluble mystery surrounding him. If anything, you'd think he has about, in the least, two centuries behind him.

"I'm losing my thread here. Do you have any idea how difficult it is for me to muster the courage to face you, to invite you in, here in my most defenseless state when you, some donkey days ago, have just about crept the hell out of me? And now that I'm heaping on you some basic inquiries you promptly refuse to answer them. How, exactly, do you expect me to get along with you?"

"Why do you fear me?"

"Isn't that because you were kind enough to stalk me in my goddamn first day at school? And that you—don't even think of denying—have a speed comparable to that of a goddamn bullet?"

My panting only reveals how upset I really am. He buries his gaze at the fireplace, as if to sink into some introspection.

"What are your suspicions?"

"I don't have any, except that—damn, I'm crazy—you're probably only _half_ human."

In a heartbeat, something stirs into the depths of his eyes. He stays guarded, but turns to me, nonetheless.

"And you fear me because you think of me as such?"

"No. Because you're not making any effort to clear away whatever aversion I reserve against you and your strangeness. I'm looking at a pure unknown. And nothing is scarier than the unknown."

By this time my temples are slathered with sweat that's hardly containable.

"So you don't know what you fear in me." He turns a grave face to me like a scavenger that feeds on people's decadence. Indeed, his paleness, emphasized by his nonchalant immobility, looms startling under the lamps.

"Because you won't let me know." I say angrily.

"Well then, _guess_."

"What?"

"Guess."

"I've been doing that for five days without any luck. Maybe Grimmjow would at least hint on something that'd lead me to some sort of a discovery, if only to know a part of the whole."

"For the record, Grimmjow is a useless spoiled brat and is incapable of conducting a decent conversation. At any rate, I'm giving you a preemptive strike. Conjectures, if you please."

I scowl upon gauging how far this is gonna be from the easy game I want to play. For all I know this may turn out to be something I dread despite the lack of evidence that it's likely. I take a sigh, thinking that the road that may lead me to unraveling this family's secret has become longer and steeper.

"Is this—"

The door swings open to accommodate a figure; a woman. Ulquiorra does not turn around, but only consults the window to confirm the presence's identity by the reflection on the glass.

Neliel, his sister, knocks on the open door, perhaps deeming it unnecessary to conduct a more ceremonious entrance. She glides across the room with reverent gracefulness that speaks of no reason to suppose she's not royalty.

"Ah, sister, what brings you here?" Ulquiorra asks her.

She doesn't answer right away. Instead, she's studying me with a penetrating gaze.

"Mother is looking for you." She informs her brother without the slightest regard.

"Does she need me now?"

"Yes, _now, _preferably."

"Urgent matter?"

"Just go, Scheiffer."

"And you?"

"Just go."

Strain starts to show across Ulquiorra's countenance. One look suggests it's an obvious refusal to yield ground.

"Kurosaki needs rest; keep your visit short."

He swings out in no less disapproval than the one he exhibited against her sister's interruption. When he has gone, Neliel sinks to the fateful chair that for so long now has been seldom vacated. I try to look composed, succeeding only in looking fidgety.

"Hello, Kurosaki-kun. My name is Neliel. I am Ulquiorra's sister. How are you feeling?"

Her cordiality invites my confidence, but maybe not enough of it to stop my lips from parting slightly and wordlessly at her rare magnificence. Unlike Grimmjow, Ulquiorra and their mother, she possesses a beauty that ventures more on the sunny side.

"I'm all good, thanks." I'm blushing like a goddamn devil.

"Really? I'd have thought those two are giving you a major hard time."

"Grimmjow and Ulquiorra?"

"Yeah. Double headache, aren't they?"

"Not much, really. I owe Grimmjow a lot while Ulquiorra has been truly pleasant."

She pulls on a pleasant smile which nearly makes me forfeit the idea that she and I are never gonna happen. She draws the armchair closer to the bed's lining, her green hair setting into a deep contrast against the monochromatic upholstery in the room. When she heaves in closer I find myself beginning to entertain an absurd thought; that she's gonna hold me, but she stops a hair's breadth short of an uncomfortable distance.

"You wait and see." She warns.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

The air of amusement she's setting forth is accompanied by a steady glance at me, which I can't quite return.

"Well, Jack and Scheiffer argue over anything under the sun. There can even be a disagreement between them about the actual shape of the Earth, if you know what I mean. That said, this can get pretty interesting."

"What can?" I inquire, all the while presuming she's purposely puzzling me.

Alas she speaks, "I don't want you getting some unwelcome ideas, but I'm glad my brothers found something to devote their attachment to. That's you, Kurosaki Ichigo." The last statement is spoken more to herself than to anyone. Absorbing all that she's said, my thoughts gradually fall in the right places, and now I've become aware of a possibility I can't encompass, that what she said maybe is the clear-cut truth.

"What?"

"Come on, you know it as much as I do."

Her gaze at me is growing more solid and, with the way she's sizing me up, I'm as good as dropping dead in the next interval. I mean, man, after getting this close to her as to be able to smell her hair the rest of my life will surely be a goddamn, larger than life letdown.

To my considerable credit, I manage to utter, "I don't."

She frowns before straying to a long ponderous pause.

"Hmm. How shall I put it? Let's see… I'm not making this all up like some speculative commentary but, what the plain facts suggest is, Grimmjow and Ulquiorra fancy you very much. And I do, too, don't get me wrong, though not as much as they do."

I simply can't begin to understand what kind of luck I've run into. I feel elated by her admittance of liking me; the thought is simply delectable. As for Ulquiorra and Grimmjow…

"I don't even know them personally, and vice versa. Besides, I plainly don't have anything under my belt to earn such respect from them, and you, for that matter—"

"Do you know what precipitated this—their—fondness for you?"

She didn't even hear any word I've spoken.

"Er, you tell me."

Her merry enthusiasm ascends to upper reaches. Really, there should be an adverb with which to qualify her energy and utter beauty to a single term.

"You're too _irresistible_, that's what."

This is something I've neither foreseen nor even thought to permit. By no stretch of imagination could I have been capable of brewing something as unprecedented as this. Come on, man, she has to be the most gorgeous creature that's ever commended me.

"What?" is all I can say as this is an experience I could never have wished for, and at such times there is very little to say.

"You heard me."

"A—am I right in assuming you are perfectly aware that your brothers are _males_, with _dicks_, and that if they had taken up their interests to anything other than me, a female specifically, they'd be something what one might call normal?"

I have my mind tightly shut against the possibilities of the abominable implications she's conferring. That being said, I still can't keep from wincing at her candid implications, whatever you may call it. Needless to say this disorientation—mine— can have been simpler and much less difficult to dissipate if she didn't laugh, she starts to chuckle.

"I'm aware of those things, of course. However, being normal has no place in this household. What I can I assure you, though, is, there's no need to feel unsafe about it." She assures me with a gesture of finality, and pleasure, maybe, as she consequently appears more radiant in her beauty.

"It's rather absurd."

"What is?"

The voice does not belong to Neliel. Grimmjow Jaggerjack has come back. He's standing erect at the doorway, as if to hide himself in the anonymity of the inanimate pieces of furniture. His sister merely turns her head to him. I, on the other hand, am feeling the need at last of asserting my disposition between the three siblings in some way. To be quite honest, my head is insisting on a good rest after having been bolstered by a series of absurdities. In any case, Grimmjow wades his way inside, his distaste for my current state undiminished in him.

"Nothing. Kurosaki and I are just having a little talk. We better leave him alone now, lest his injuries master him." Neliel suggests.

Grimmjow's eyebrows start to travel higher up his forehead in some jesting surprise, "It's a little too late for that, don't you think so, sister, as you have tarried here longer than—"

"—longer than you two should have if you had paid ample respect to propriety and had been a volume more considerate."

Again, it's not Neliel who answers; it's Ulquiorra. He steps in, fists still stuffed in his pockets, and some sort of a silent but vengeful aspect is about him.

"Over with mother already?" Neliel asks Ulquiorra.

"No. That was a cheap trick, Neliel."

She wrinkles her brow in a daze of sincere incomprehension. "Cheap trick?" she inquires.

"Mother wasn't calling for _me_. I suppose _you_ invented that out to get your hands on a good gallivanting with Kurosaki."

Unexpectedly she loosens up, understanding dawning on her. She faces Ulquiorra, unblinking and resolute, before saying, "I forgive you for your accusation, _false_ as it is. But next time you may reserve your finger-pointing to someone else who's entirely capable of such creative premeditation, someone like Grimmjow here who earnestly asked me, his eldest sibling, to deliver you a message from mother."

Ulquiorra pilots his gaze towards his brother, the miscreant. "That explains about eighty percent of it. Do you so badly want Kurosaki rid of my presence to sink as low as to pull something like that?"

Grimmjow rolls his eyes. Unpredictable as he is, his response to such address is to say, "_Yeah_. Why do you even have to ask what's being fully blasted in your face? Sheesh."

This does not convey any form of disturbance to Ulquiorra, for some reason. He continues to stare at his brother in absolute stillness, a stillness which does not resemble peace in any way.

"Shall we settle this outside, then?" he proposes, to which Grimmjow replies,

"Sure."

Now they're glaring at each other, each eliciting as much animosity as the other. In the most usual sense, hatred doesn't even come close to describing what they hold for each other.

"This is getting really interesting, shouldn't you agree, Kurosaki-kun?" Neliel asks me.

**TBC**


	6. Invitation

**Chapter VI: Invitation**

"What exactly are they plotting to do?" I ask.

"They're gonna spar." She answers mechanically, which doesn't at all come as a relief.

"Fist fight?"

"Something like that."

Ulquiorra strides ahead to lead the way while Grimmjow follows suit, as if merely out of duty.

"W—wha—should they even be doing this? For what?" I inquire in what may have been anxious disbelief.

"Oh, they do this all the time. No one's gonna get hurt." Neliel assures me, an assurance which she appears to think as something of a substitute for a sedative. It suddenly occurs to me, though I can't quite tell how, that speech or silence, or indeed any action of mine, would be a mere futility.

"But you have to stop them; we _have_ to." I say weakly.

She shrugs impassively. "Not gonna work. They're always at each other's throat, and that's something I'll have to get used to starting today, now that they've found you."

I gape at her, expecting a follow-through to this uncaring remark. I might as well hope to win an argument against Plato… in Latin.

The root of my concern is plain; I know for a fact that both bastards have extraordinary abilities, and though that's something that hasn't been officially established, even covertly admitted, I do know what my eyes have seen were real. And thus it is completely possible for these two to inflict serious injuries to one another.

"You didn't just mean that."

She swivels her magnificent head at me, looking mildly questioning, "Which one? It's kinda true, or at least I think so; they're fighting over _you_. It's so obvious, those two idiots—"

"—that's _not_ what I meant. They might get seriously hurt. They're your brothers, shouldn't you be—"

"Oh, _that_?" She asks, as if she's been reminded of something that wouldn't have entered her mind on her own accord. She continues, "Well, Kurosaki-kun, if I may be allowed to explain my case, I'll tell you that watching those two wankers get beat up by one another is something of an every-hour occurrence around here. That being said, I'd go as far as saying there's not a hair out of the ordinary with what's taking place now."

Yeah, alright, she's beautiful, perhaps beyond imagination and, you see, even that can't override my suspicion that she's just the type who can't smell shit on her own. Moreover, it seems altogether impossible to talk some sense into her, what with the slack-jawed amusement she's demonstrating at this moment. And then she makes a truth out of my assumption by watching the doorway eagerly, obviously expecting another scene that might add up to her fascination—with a face which does not register on any scale of concern about the possibility of her brothers beating the dogshit out of each other.

Well, if this is how it should be, let them get themselves reduced to a bloody pulp for all I care. For starters, I didn't do anything to precipitate this, nor do I think a showdown between them would be entertaining. Give me a break. I've never begged anything more from life than being free of causing troubles, which I so strive to avoid. But some two bastards are making it too difficult for me…

"You're really not gonna stop them, are you?"

"No use. Listen, you look really worn-out. I'll leave you now, okay?" she suggests.

She turns around without waiting for my response. In a heartbeat she has gone away. I can feel my consciousness die away in the natural progress of time…

...

_The horizon unveils itself. It is heavily blurred by what seems like an impending storm, and the visibility of the blue sky renders everything grey. I'm walking on a plain, towards where I can't quite tell. It's as if I've wandered in the memories of a lost era, only to return when all this fades. Believing myself alone, I run around, basking in what feels like newly-obtained freedom. I have reached the end of the plane, a cliff. A lone figure is standing dangerously close to the edge, and one wrong move is likely to end up a suicide._

_Instead of asking who he is, I shoot,_

"_What are you?"_

_He turns to me, and in doing so has revealed a face to which I cannot appeal in the name of anything high and low. I'm looking at a beauty beyond description. I recognize Aizen Sousuke with the help of the narrow shafts of the orange sky between the thick clouds._

"_We have met. It would hurt me if you have forgotten my name in so short a space of time."_

"_You are Dr. Aizen; that much I can recall. What I want to know…"_

"_What you want to know is a secret that cannot be dragged out of us. But, look, the sun is disappearing. The beauty of twilight never fails to overthrow all of us. It's the only time of day where light and darkness merge to create a realm that discriminates no preferences between day and night. It's a perfect passage for my kind." He recites while gazing at the sinking sun, an unfettered enthusiasm of youth about his aspect._

"_Your family's secret, does it answer why your children can give The Flash a run for his money? Why we never see them shove a grain of rice down their throats? Why there's something inhumanly enthralling about your appearances? Why someone like you, who could have attained success anywhere, has chosen to live in this unsophisticated place of the dreariest weather? Is it to hide from the sun? And lastly, do Grimmjow and Ulquiorra hate or love blood?" I ask, my queries sounding endless in their multiplicity._

_Dr. Aizen continues to scrutinize the decline of day. He answers me nonetheless,_

"_You've found our secret out."_

_My surroundings are starting to grow immaterial to me, but I need to supply my inadequate proofs with a more direct ground before this dream leaves me,_

"_Vampires?"_

...

I awake at an infinitely familiar voice.

"How long has he been out?"

"He has woken up hours ago. He must have fallen back to sleep. There's nothing to fear, Dr. Kurosaki; he'll be able to attend school in a week's time."

I pry my lids apart to be greeted by dad's and Dr. Aizen's faces. I focus on dad. Contrary to what I expected, he's glancing down on me with a combination of austere, paternal reproach and disappointment; all in all, it's this kind of look I've never seen before and hope to never see again. His pensive gaze, I'm quite sure, speaks of resentment that outweighs whatever protectiveness he may have been holding for me.

"Dad, I'm sorry for troubling you…" I start beseechingly, and, lame as it sounds, I can't quite look at him straight in the eye.

"I should consider you the luckiest chap that ever walked on two legs, young man. I wouldn't have known how to put you up if Dr. Aizen's son hadn't been there in your unthinking carelessness." He shakes his weary head upon conducting this verging-on-confidential father and son exchange. He resumes, "In any case, you've attracted too much trouble to Dr. Aizen and his fam—"

"—now, now, Dr. Kurosaki," Dr. Aizen intercepts, "he hasn't occasioned us the slightest of troubles at all, I assure you, nor did he require of us the obligation to attend to him. If anything, we're glad to have the chance of knowing him, which, of course, would have been much more welcome under different circumstances. Nevertheless, I am very relieved by the speed of recovery he has demonstrated. Youth is certainly a treasure." He finishes, and if he has intended to divert dad's attention from my blunder I guess I'm in a deeper debt to this guy than when I first entered his abode.

Dad takes a deep sigh to harness his words. This time he speaks with more caution, "I'll save grounding you and imposing on you a new line of disciplinary tomes to abide by for later; when you've fully recovered. For now, I'm mighty glad you're alright, son."

Dad forces a smile of relief, which makes the pleasant surfaces of his face stand out.

I suppose this necessitates an expression of gratitude from me. "Thanks, dad, and, of course, Dr. Aizen. I guess I'm off your hook now."

"So it seems. You're good to go." Dr. Aizen says heartily. "And for a reminder, you are suffering from multiple skin-deep cuts which need constant sterilization, and minor wrist, shoulder and ankle injuries. Take it easy now."

Dad nods at him as he helps me to my feet. When I've finally got on with both feet, it occurs to me that my joints are all throbbing and aching like shit. Whatever difficulties I have now don't quite deter me from leaving this house as soon as I can. The dream I had minutes ago is starting to swarm its way to me, piece by piece, to reconstruct the whole of it. In spite of feeling nothing fixed or solid in my brain, I'm very conscious of this possession of impatience, that I am being pursued by one great thought: dad and I are not safe under this roof. This family is consisted of beings that exist outside the realm of possibility and, though it cannot be ascertained in any way, I have to take measures, every sort of measure even if it means wearing a chain of garlic bulbs around my neck. That is, if I get out of here alive and not bereft of blood…

I'm crazy. Attesting to that is my ungrateful manner of repaying the services Dr. Aizen has rendered me. Just what sort of crazy suspicions are these, anyway?! Why am I still having them when the contrary has duly presented itself to me in bold colors? that while attending to my injuries he had all the chance in the world to suck me dry of blood... damn. If someone would just cart me off to the shrink and—

"Do you need assistance in supporting your son's walking, Dr. Kurosaki?"

It's Ulquiorra. I let my gaze wander off behind him, and, sure enough, Neliel, Mrs. Aizen, and Grimmjow are peeking at the doorway. Grimmjow, whose countenance is looking thoroughly conflicting, if not only distinctive, against his sister and mother's heartwarming faces, is scowling, perhaps believing himself unobserved. I trace the path of his gaze; it leads to Ulquiorra, who's standing at my side, peremptorily awaiting dad's reply. I surely don't feel like engaging into a close contact with him, not even in my most urgent need. I'm not exaggerating, nor am I being excessively finicky about anyone who should touch me, but out of all the members of this family, be they vampires or not, Ulquiorra looks the _least_ human. With that in mind, I can hardly discard my theory.

"Er, I can manage, Ulquiorra, thank you very much." I blurt out before dad beats me into it with his consent.

After three laborious minutes, dad has finally managed to prop me up comfortably in his shiny new Range Rover. Ulquiorra hasn't left my side; he's standing outside the car, as if to block me from someone's view. Dad heads back to the house's entry porch to perform another series of undying exchanges of brief farewells with the rest of the family. Being here now, alone with Ulquiorra in this gloomy stillness, mounts up in me the obsessive yearning to solve this household's mysteries. And I'm feeling more impelled to question him because of the ominous light that illuminates a portion of his face. He's flawlessly unscathed. Forget about his pore-less skin and its silky quality; I've just remembered something,

"Didn't you and Grimmjow take on each other a few hours before this?"

"Yes, we did."

I try to get a good look of him with what light the environment is providing. No bruises, no cuts, no nothing. Now this ushers me to conclude three things, of which only one is possibly correct: a) he's a fat liar; b) he and Grimmjow didn't get too serious in their affairs; and c) their bodies are invulnerable to cuts, which is just about as absurd as anything can get, frankly, though it probably is the correct one.

"Is that so? How come you haven't got a goddamn hair out of line? You look as tidy as a damn scholar." A tiny sneer, which hints on some petty triumph, issues from my lips. Though, on second thoughts, I can't be too sure that smirking under these circumstances is a very splendid idea.

He glances down at me, and, with his face against the light, he maybe is looking thoroughly wiped out. Got ya, bastard.

"It wasn't anything as nearly serious as a boxing match, Kurosaki. In any case, you shouldn't trouble yourself with unimportant matters. What you should focus on is your recovery—"

"—phony. Cut it with your digression. You were as serious as a murderer under cover about settling accounts with him. I don't care for what you two disagreed on; what I want to hear from you right at this instant is the answer to this: are you capable of acquiring injuries?" I burst forth determinedly, and maybe I should congratulate myself for sounding most dictatorial. True, perhaps it's altogether unfair, maybe it's even imbecilic, to lash at him as heatedly as this, but truer still is my necessity to learn the truth.

He's looking as though the only thing he has at his disposal is to remain motionless. Consuming a criminally long time to speak, he starts,

"Kurosaki, I never meant to be dishonest with you—"

"—Answer me. Just that one goddamn, glorious question. Or are you gonna deprive me of my satisfaction and lead me away from being in better terms with you?" I say firmly. It's cruel, I know, to take advantage of his weakness over me and assign a ransom for his answer to satiate this curiosity, a curiosity whose origin is most likely his and the rest of his family's most valuable secret. Even so, I dredge on, undaunted, "You see my dad over there? He's gonna join me in no time, and I don't want him to catch me having this sort of crazy conversation with you. SO, if by then I still haven't obtained what I'm asking for, well then, that would just be _too_ bad, Ulquiorra, too _damn _bad."

He makes no intentions of hiding the dread he holds for my stupid threat. With no options left in sight, his voice resonates in a manner that accounts for all the reluctance in the world,

"Like everything that lives, my kind is conducive to damages as much as we are susceptible to pain. If you stab me with a knife I'll bleed. If you maul me with a hammer my bones will break. If you shoot a gun at me the bullets shall bury themselves in my flesh and I'll get holes in this not so much as an indestructible body. And, like all creations big and small, we are capable of healing. Only that, we heal much faster than all other life forms. About _five thousand_ times faster. Yes, we're _not _humans, at least not _anymore_."

"…"

I am such an idiot. Right now I'm that particular sort of idiot who likes to leave his mouth hanging open long enough for flies to inhabit it. I have pulled off a fiasco greater than anyone has accomplished in so far as meddling is concerned. I should've reserved his confession for a grander setting; not here in this awkward position where the only thing such circumstance is worthy of accommodating is a casual farewell.

But, more importantly, I'm hearing my dad bid his last shot at cordiality to Dr. Aizen,

"Come by my clinic anytime. I can show you some of the most interesting medical cases I've encountered."

Shit. An article on the fiction section I've read years ago surges back on my mind, the details of which I infallibly managed to commit to my memory.

"_It is an unwritten law among vampires to never set foot on any household without the owner's permission…one definite way to grant a vampire access to your house is to drop him an invitation in any fashion; verbal, calligraphic… with that, you grant him full access to your blood."_

Shit.

Once at home, I try to pull myself together and reconcile myself to some pathetic benefit-of-the-doubt nitshit. Ulquiorra didn't exactly mention 'vampire', did he? Yeah, I can live with that. Maybe they're _simply_ a bunch of mutated fellows or the results of some biochemical experiments. Jesus, my heart is pounding like a maniac. Perhaps they're superheroes from some extra-terrestrial origin. To be on the safe side, I've locked myself in my room and drawn all the damn curtains, in the effect of shielding myself from anything outside that might send my heart choking away from my ribcage. Nothing abates, not even my breathing. I need to calm down. I need to—

_Tap, tap, tap,_

The unmistakable sound of knocks on my window penetrates my ears. No, it ain't a goddamn twig being swayed by the wind to produce a cacophony of annoying, persistent sounds with the window's glazing; it's a goddamn _fist _banging against the ¼ inch-thick glass which is encased by the sturdy aluminum casing—which happens to be my fucking window. And who the hell can that be?

"W—w—who's t—there?" My mouth does this major overtaking on my goddamn wits. Now my aim of pretending to be nonexistent to whoever the fuck is trying to gain access to my room lay dead. Fucking dead. What doesn't help above all is, my voice box isn't doing pretty well in its duty of preventing my voice from sounding retarded.

"It's me, Grimmjow. Will you let me in?"

He really does save the best for last.

**TBC**


	7. The Visitor

**Chapter VII: The Visitor**

I scramble about, not knowing where to put my thoughts next, as the night stretches on to be a potential, if not certain horror, what with Grimmjow Jaggerjack, a vampire unidentified, hanging around outside my window in God knows what manner. Whether he's currently floating in midair or doing some Spiderman-class acrobatics out there I don't wanna know.

"Will you let me in?" He repeats, and his voice now assumes some type of impatience. I am trembling, trembling in very much the same manner that normal people do when they're confronted with realities such as being haunted by a real-life, blood-sucking hound of hell.

I'm carping about my room as I put behind the urge to slap the shit out of my mouth for responding to the bastard's call, because there's a shitload of more crucial things to undertake; I gotta get my hands on a Bible or a cross; any damn protection from the impending evil—

"Hey, Kurosaki, I _know_ you can hear me. I can hear you from ten miles away, what with the ruckus you're concocting with the pieces of furniture in there. Come on, open up." He warns with a gathering, rather urgent, emphasis.

"N—no fucking way!"

"Eh? Just—dammit, if you don't, I'll—"

"—I'll call the police! No—I'll call a _priest_ and fetch a Bible if you so much as try to enter!"

"What the—? What the hell is your problem? Just what the fuck is with all these stupid threats like anything holy would damn kill me?"

"Hah! You think horsing around like that would be your salvation? FYI, I have a stack of Bibles in here, man, and if you don't clear the hell out I swear I'll—"

"—dammit, Kurosaki, at least draw the fucking curtains so I can at least _see_ you. And stop being a stupid prat; it's _embarrassing, _other than making a damn racket at this time of day, if you must know." He says without resorting to a high note. Didn't he just say that in a pleading tone, so as to suspend all the unnecessary shit enlisted in my mind?

"…"

"Please?" It's not something I can classify as absolute sincerity; on the contrary, I have a pretty good feeling the word was wrenched out of him through tightly clenched jaws.

"W—what do you want, Grimmjow?"

"I—I want to—dammit, I asked if you could part the curtains. Can you do that?"

"No—yes— no—I _don't_ know! What did you come here for?"

"Know what, Kurosaki? This is fucking _stupid_, and I hate, seriously hate, to be trapped in a fucking stupid situation just like precisely where I am now. Now you'll save me the trouble of cutting the stupidities by parting the damn curtains, in which case half of the stupidities goin' on will be eliminated. How's that?" He proposes. I gotta give him props for the guts, and then I can fetch a goddamn stake and impale his damn chest with it.

Somehow, I've come to restore order in my mind and managed to say, "You're the one who got yourself into this, moron; no one asked you to climb the shit all the way up here. If you must know, this day has been the most tiresome one I've had to date. And now here you are, destroying my lovely peace. And if it isn't too much to ask, what in bloody fuck do you want, Grimmjow?"

"You're the one who's being a fucking, tedious, unmanageable git. What sort of imbecile is incapable of parting the damn curtains anyway? Or do you want me to use your front door? Your dad's downstairs, munching on a bucket of popcorn with your two li'l sisters. I presume they'd give me a more pleasant welcome than what you're pulling on me right now."

Like a quick sedative his threat extends to me to nullify my ungrounded hostility. Slowly, I draw the curtains out.

He is seated on the narrow molding of my windowpane with his back against the glass. Explaining how he managed to heave his way up here seems to hold no attraction for him as it is unsurprising to me.

"What do you want?"

He doesn't turn his head to me, which comes to me as a contradiction of his earlier pleas about drawing the curtains shit and wanting to see me.

"I wasn't even able to say goodbye to you. The next thing I knew was you had gone off and had hit the damn road." He states with some difficulty.

Amid the directness he has shown so far, he still hasn't come around to looking at me, and I, being always insufficiently quick of the brain, merely twitch.

"T—that's all? You came all the way here for _that_?"

"Yeah. Now that it's said and done, you've all the right reasons to point your damn finger at Ulquiorra, that crazy prick. He took about, what, ten hours to pack you in your dad's car? The fucking maniac. Of course I couldn't have gotten anywhere near that jerk, if ya know what I mean."

Man, this dude has far overstepped my comfort zone. Even in between the curses and low-level name-callings, I can clearly guess the whole point of this meeting; he's saying he wants to see me, and all this doesn't suggest less than that. This is getting sick, I'm telling you.

Feeling impelled to lift my guard, I say, "Alright. You can't remain seated there for a second more."

"Good idea."

I throw one window panel open. With incredible agility he conducts himself into my room. For my part, I try to look composed—to little spectacular avail. Hints of approval are visible on his face upon his entrance.

"It's not too much." I say, offering more explanations than what's needed.

"It's neat; I can give it that." He turns to me with a face that seems to watch for more than words from me. With what little space there is between us, he draws near. He's so close now; close enough for me to scrutinize his damn face and relate it to the light that falls on it. But, upon longer inspection, I learn that being this close to him reveals to me a sort of beauty which no manipulation of light could have conveyed.

"So you have eyes only for Ulquiorra?"

That kills the gathering staleness that's threatening to overcome us.

"I can't make fucking head or tail on why you keep having this atrocious idea about me and your damn brother. To be quite frank, this sort of joke doesn't even strike me as funny anymore." I snap, in full knowledge of having taken my annoyance farther than I had to.

"Okay, okay, fine. I didn't come here to piss you off. Will that do for a start? As I have already mentioned, I only dropped by to say goodbye."

"The deuce you did. That's a lotta bull, Grimmjow. What the hell do you want? I mean, I'm not even gonna ask you what sort of sorcery you applied on your goddamn legs to vie against my dad's driving which can pitch up to an unholy 155 on the speedometer, mind you, and that's saying I don't even know who got here first. Yeah, you don't have to inform me that you didn't drive your way here."

A restrained amusement now seems conspicuous in his manners. Without a second of hesitation he answers, "Your dad drives faster than what my body can pull. You guys beat me into arriving here first; that, I gotta admit. I can go for as high as ninety, but only for a few seconds. A little above that would be pushing it. I reckon Stark can go as fast as 120 or so. So, now that you know, are you disappointed in me, Kurosaki?" He is smirking in the most obtrusive way even in realizing his candor is not appreciated, a fact made evident by my exaggerated scowl.

"Not really. I think you're kinda fast, inhumanly fast, if I may be allowed to venture. Inhuman. Yeah, isn't that the perfect word for you?" I answer, as if this sort of conversation were a mere accident of the day. My thoughts, though vague, force themselves onward, only to reveal that the fear I had since the dream hasn't left me, just as my mental, ardent pursuit of their secret hasn't effaced.

He continues to grin, a grin whose malignity has the frequency, regularity, permanency, and the inevitability of the sun. He raises his palm and reaches out for my hair, stroking the strands with his fingers. Unfortunately, this approach I neither defy nor conform to, because I've never once been remarked by a clearness of mind.

I hear him ask, "Now that you know what I am, aren't you scared of me?"

With a million shit-piles preying on my mind, though somehow at the same time feeling no bodily fear can deter me, I answer,

"No. I can't possibly be scared of someone who goes around as though he couldn't have lived without me. You know, someone who follows me around, always ever on the lookout for some chance of an encounter, has no absolute chance of scaring me. Tell me now, Grimmjow, do you _want_ my blood?"

He freezes in motion, as though my words have hit him like something that's capable of shattering out his existence. It appears all that's left for him is to withdraw his hand from my hair and postpone the activities of his formerly smirking face.

"What makes you think I want your blood?"

"Vampire, that's what you are."

He's looking thoroughly taken aback now, perhaps unable to identify which appropriate reaction to choose.

"Ulquiorra didn't tell you anything that leads to something like that."

"You were friggin' ten yards away when Ulquiorra and I were talking in front of your house, and in very low voices at that too; like, we were pulling some major 0.002 decibels back there. You heard that too, huh, superhuman?" I say it almost like an indiscreet accusation.

"…"

I continue with high conviction, "You want this sort of game, don't you? You thought I wouldn't be of the right material to recognize anything upon the slightest pretexts that you ain't normal. You touched down, equipped with the best of your malice, perhaps aiming to scare me off my wits with your subtle implications of you being supernatural and all. And now when I've gone past half-believing it you're giving me that sort of face? What is it that you want, exactly?"

In his confusion he seems to be losing his grip on his usual demeanor. He takes a step backward before allowing his arms to drop on his sides with a heavier weight than they should have. But his gaze remains fastened on mine, ponderous and cautious, with neither condition predominant, and at long last he opens his mouth,

"What makes you so sure I am what you claim to be?"

"Intuition? Frankly, I can't be too sure. Perhaps it has to do with the fact that, underneath it all, I'm smarter than I think I am. Returning to the subject, you still haven't answered my question." I say sternly, and, coming from someone who has never before made a consistent effort to dare, I have to say I am deserving of a few credits here. On a more realistic scale, my boldness now is probably only one wink short of suicide.

Grimmjow looks away with a serious attempt of assuming a face that's least allied to discomfort. He can have been a picture-perfect sight if it weren't for my being in danger of getting myself killed any minute now, which I wholeheartedly think isn't a contingency but a certainty.

He sinks on my bed, and slides his palm over his forehead and all the way down to the back of his head. With careful inhibition, he plunges into a more or less censored account of his plight,

"I wanted to draw you into me. When I first stumbled upon you, that time in that accursed fire exit, I figured you were, _without_ a question, something—someone who was suffused with that specific scent that could've sent my world tumbling headlong to chaos. Yes, it's your blood that I _want_."

Our eyes meet in such a fashion that bodes nothing remotely consequential, at least not _yet_. I surmise it's too late now to regret having cared more for immediate satisfaction than for remote consequences. I have unraveled the secrets of Dr. Aizen's family, and in doing so have called my due; I'm gonna die here, all because I went too deep into this mess just to feed my curiosity.

"You came to kill me." I speak out, not as gravely as what my words imply.

He gives a start, and a series of disapproving facial contortions reoccurs hereafter. He's shaking his head distastefully, as though he's denying an assertion made by someone somewhere.

After a long silence, he mutters with some disgust, "I wouldn't do that on god's green Earth."

This remark makes no result other than the gradual cessation of my fear and the abrupt accumulation of incomprehension.

"You're not gonna kill me? You said—"

"I said I only dropped by to say goodbye, Jesus. Wanting your blood is scarcely derivable to killing you. Crimeny, you turn out to be more difficult than a damn army of lunatics."

His irritation surfaces into a fine distinction amidst his strained mannerisms. I make for the empty chair beside my bed. He doesn't intend to kill me, he said. With one small claim so lacking in full assurance my discomfiture has departed elsewhere. The fear he generates and the lurking hazards residing in his being have dissolved to mere potentialities in this one swift minute. Finally, all my misgivings about this have become dim almost to extinction…

"How's it like being a vampire?"

"What—I'll tell you some other time. After all, I've no plans of outstaying my welcome. Rest the night away. I'll see you some other time." he bids curtly with a slightly demanding reticence that hints on his need to steer the subject to a different direction.

He stands up, in which an influx of thoughts loosen themselves from the narrow prisons of my mind. I ask him,

"You said it's my blood that you want. What that alludes to is your thirst for it. Then why won't you bury your damn fangs on me?"

His pace slackens until he becomes entirely bereft of motion. Don't get me wrong; pulling one's scramming to a stop isn't generally my idea of a brilliant last-minute, parting remark. It's that I really can't make out why he has chosen not to subdue his hunger for my blood by attempting to drink from my veins.

"If I do that you'll get killed. I _can't_ do that because, well—yeah, you're probably right; I'm this someone who wouldn't perhaps live without you."

**TBC**

**A/N:** There's GrimmIchi for everyone. This is scarcely edited; pardon me for the errors.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N**: good lord, this is gonna be a long, tedious chapter; that's a warning. I reckon there's a couple of readers who asked if this is gonna be UlquiIchi or GrimmIchi. Well, it's somewhere between. I still don't know. Haha. By the way, I really, really don't like the new FFN interface.

**Chapter VIII: Hazard**

This is one of those times when you hardly know your mind enough to walk on two legs, and thus I can only confirm his departure by approaching the window. Grimmjow has taken his flight and has left me to the mercy of solitude. The last I saw of him tonight was his smile, the sort which villains pull when things go their way. I swagger my way on my bed to collapse on it in a languid fall. This truly has been the most eventful day of my life; there's no disguising that. As the night strikes me blind, my consciousness gives way to the black pit of slumber.

...

The morning I've woken up into appears to be harnessing quite a number of contributions for a pleasant start. Yuzu and Karin are being extra charming to me today. In fact, I only have to raise a finger to get my hands on a glass of milk and have them skipping over to deliver me my pancakes. Dad, on the other hand, has been quite keen on keeping an eye on me. All seems pleasant, except for the unaccountable recurring thoughts plaguing my mind and the memories of last night that won't wear out.

"Do you need anything more, Oni-san?" Yuzu asks me.

"Yeah. I know it's too much to ask, but I wanna surf the internet. Problem is, my laptop's in my room, and—"

"—I'll go fetch it." She pipes up. Sometimes it pays to be the eldest child amidst all the incurred responsibilities that are bound to rain on you and smack you black and blue.

In no more than five minutes I find myself going over article after article concerning vampires; all of which are in many ways the same. Among the most common definitions and descriptions of them offered by various sites there's one that's inapplicable to the Aizen Family; vampires cannot stand sunlight. Suppose their kind really cowers away from the sun, in which case the weather here would in one way or another be favorable to them. That still doesn't justify their being COMPLETELY operational during daytime, without any deterrence from the sun. Does this mean all these human efforts to define them, these published documents over which many obsessed minds have raved, fall notably short of the truth? Then all this time humans have been living in so complex a world and have understood so little of it. With this, I now entirely believe that dissatisfaction seeks a definite object, and at the present it has found me. Dismayed, I hand my PC over Karin's lap and let her do away with her fanfictions.

I'm presently trying to lay these corrosive thoughts away from the tracks of my mind. Unsurprisingly it's just impossible, especially when things like Grimmjow, Ulquiorra, blood-drinkers, superhumans, and other such matters have just about swept your mind clear of other info, earthly ones specifically. Naturally, there's no other thing left to perform but to think, not with hopes of more discoveries but with mere yearning and unrest. I guess this leaves me with prying the truth straight from Ulquiorra's or Grimmjow's mouth. Yeah, you may call it flirting with death.

...

Four days have passed, and in those days I neither received a visit nor a word from either of Grimmjow and Ulquiorra. In any case, my condition has improved, giving me permission to go back to school.

At school, eyes flick on me which on any given day would have occasioned me annoyance.

"Kurosaki-kun!" Inoue Orihime comes toddling over me, and, in a breathless attempt to compose a comment, goes on, "What happened to you? Word didn't get out about your accident—why didn't you inform us about this?"

"Er, I'm really fine."

She frowns at my disinclination to supply her with further information. We nevertheless make our way to the classroom with her beside me. It now occurs to me that hardly anything interests me now. To elaborate, if this had taken place two weeks prior my heart would be skipping beats at this moment, at this particular space of time when someone like Inoue Orihime was clinging this close to me to offer what assistance she had in hand to conduct me to the harmless classroom.

"There you go, Kurosaki." She says upon reaching my seat. "I'm not going to ask you more about whatever it is that happened to you during your absence, but I'll have to ask you to be more careful next time." She smiles before tilting away from me.

To make everything clear, I still have a number of bandages taped on me and a long one wrapped around my head. The sight of me, consequently, gives off quite a handful of reactions from other students. And sure enough, just in the nick of time, the whole pack of Renji Abarai and the gang is currently doing well in attacking me with unnumbered questions.

"Did you get in a fight?" Renji pushes. I can feel eight pairs of eyes prying me into a confession.

"I got into my skateboard and realized seconds too late that I wasn't anything like Tony Hawk or Bucky Lasek."

Only one bloke is sensible enough not to trouble me with the tiresome trend of conversation, which threatens to be the direction ours is heading into. Hitsugaya speaks,

"Well Kurosaki, that's one heck of a way to discover you can't be going pro in no time."

That makes me laugh, and fortunately everyone too.

At lunch time I'm seeing the Aizen siblings again for the first time in almost one week. There's nothing new about their behavior that might snap me to attention. I go about avoiding a glance, convincing myself that I could've lived forever without doing that. And so the bell shoots its first warning at fifteen to 1:00 pm. As we plough our way back to our monotonous classroom my alarms go red alert in the presence of Ulquiorra. As opposed to our first meeting more than a week ago, the effects he had on me back then now seem distant and vague.

"I'll catch up with you guys later." I tell Renji and the others. Immediately I become the sole receiver of seven glances of raised eyebrows; seven because Rukia alone has mustered the courage to steer her hostile, suspecting eyes to Ulquiorra. It seems peculiar to me that she would do that in the clear event that Ulquiorra has yet to call out my name. And even more bizarre is her choice to turn on her heels _many_ seconds after everyone else has stalked off.

"Your friend doesn't like me very much." Ulquiorra starts without troubling with the formalities of entering into a conversation.

I try to look inconspicuously discomfited here in this position which I'm reluctant to avow. Naturally I find it impossible to succeed in that.

"She's probably just curious. Hey, is there anything you need?"

"I just came by to ask if you're feeling better."

"Pretty much, yeah." I answer in an undertone, lest people around me should share in this bordering on intimate conversation. "Er, I guess there goes the second bell. I'll catch ya later, Ulquiorra."

I swing around to resume my stroll, but Ulquiorra, with what seems like the natural tendency to follow me, comes treading the same path I'm taking.

"I need to talk to you."

The deuce he does. Maybe this is the chance I've been waiting for.

"Sure. Not now, though."

"After school. I'll wait outside the building proper, near the parking lot. Meet me there, Kurosaki."

I nod an honest consent. Simultaneously his lips curl to resemble, to a remarkable extent, Grimmjow's. Here we part.

Back in class the first thing that greets me is Rukia's coldness.

...

He's sitting on a plant box, his fists in pockets, looking casual in his disinterest. He doesn't budge an inch when I reach him, perhaps for the purpose of displaying the same air other than for any serious purpose of prolonging the comfort of sitting down.

"What's the plan?" I ask.

"Come with me."

"Where to?"

"Somewhere far; where _he_ can't hear us talk."

"Who?"

Ulquiorra minutely tilts his head to his right to gesture on the far end of the parking lot. I let my gaze wander off the direction he hinted. Their car is parked a few yards away, around which four of his siblings are gathered. Neliel waves her hand in the air while Stark and Szayel don't seem to give any interest to whom she might be saying 'hello'. I smile back at her. Grimmjow, on the other hand, has this lazy but contemplative gaze locked on me and Ulquiorra. Ulquiorra stares back, resulting to a few seconds of intense glaring match which only ends when Neliel kicks on the gas to crack the vehicle in motion. Now that we're alone, he resumes his speech,

"Him, of course."

"Grimmjow?"

"Yes."

"So, where to now?"

I'm clutching on the collars of my jacket to cover my neck from the cold. Ulquiorra maintains his repose, to which the freezing temperature has done nothing to diminish.

"Along the shorelines, south of this province, exists a place of immense beauty. You should see it. There I shall tell you _all_ you want to know."

His directness and tenacity hit me as almost offensive. Surely this is _not_ very much different from asking me out. As things are, it's easy to tell how plainly stupid this is. In fact it's as stupid and as unpleasant as hearing solecisms of the worst kind. What I have to do, naturally, is to prevent this shit from progressing. So I answer,

"Can't we just get this over with in the cafeteria or in a coffee shop? So that in that case we wouldn't have to bother with such a stretch of distance from here?"

"You still fear me."

"Well, yeah, I _do_; no point denying that. That's _not_ even odd."

"That's mighty _unfair_, Kurosaki." He says, with noticeable emphasis.

"What is? You're damn _dangerous_, with superhuman abilities, while I'm this kid whose athleticism only reaches far enough to earn me no titles whatsoever. Now you're saying you wanna take me to some secluded area. At least I've to give it a damn thought if I give a shit about my neck, don't you think so?"

"And you feel that way towards me when you, four nights ago, have just about allowed Grimmjow to enter your room?"

This is getting appallingly disagreeable. Why, how the hell did he know that? On second thoughts, the answer's probably right around the corner: that Grimmjow has a big mouth.

"How the hell did you know about that shit? Your brother told you?"

"We're not even on speaking terms. I thought I've made that clear enough."

"Then why—how—aaargh. Do you two always let this special habit of spying on each other get the better of you? On second thoughts, I am NOT having this conversation with you. Dammit. I'm coming, alright. But assure me first there IS a catch to my cooperating in this." I'm on the brink of blaring at him; too near it in fact to give a rat's ass about my saliva flying out my damn mouth.

"I told you I'll tell you all there is to know."

"Fine."

He leads me at the back of the building where a lone, red, two-seater vintage Mustang is parked. It's this sort of ride that sends off as much signal as a damn siren call.

"Get in, Kurosaki."

"What's this?" I ask incredulously. In a second my query drowns in my throat as he probes in his pockets to produce a key. "You own this lovely thing?"

He unlocks the doors and lifts the one on the driver's side—the lovely thing opens albatross style.

"It's Neliel's. Too flashy, if you ask me. I borrowed it for today."

As if summoned by a mystic beckoning, I fasten myself in the passenger seat. Not long after, we're gliding on the road in perfect coherence with its meandering curves. On a side note, driving this shit probably feels as good as freefalling from a pit-less cliff. We remain silent for the entire trip, which to me is more of a relief than awkwardness. In truth, of course, I'm simply lavishing in this self-assurance without knowing indeed if all will be splendid, fine, or terrible.

After many minutes and miles over, he pulls over to an unpaved clearing, along the sides of which a thick set of hedges abounds. He kills the engine.

"It's a few miles off from here." He says, sounding informative with his misplaced diplomacy. I'm really starting to regret that I agreed to be dragged in here by the bastard, and that's counting the fact that I got myself a free ride on a gorgeous Mustang.

"A few _miles_? You're forgetting one thing here, mister; it's that I'm fucking human. You understand?" If that doesn't pitch him up into some sense, man, I don't know what will.

"No problem." He says. I'm not liking this calmness he's evincing, frankly; not when my temper is verging on towering over me.

Without lending me a room to voice out another protest, he scuds beside me in a speed my eyes fail to monitor. To my abject horror, he wraps his arm around my shoulder, showing no hopes of loosening his damn hold. My mouth fails me, just as it always does when I have not a moment to spare for myself.

"What the—let go, dammit—"

And then—yeah, it's just one of those 'and then' moments—we are _flying_. I've done this before—maybe not. It feels exactly the same way I did when I rode downhill over Rukongai Avenue, only that right now there is this imminent sense of control that seems to ensure safety. I strain my eyes for a clearer awareness of my surroundings. I learn we're still at ground-level, though I'm not feeling any soil, or anything solid at all, beneath my soles. And then it's over.

He releases me from his arm, and once I've found a solid ground to stand on a vast, gorgeous landscape assails my eyes. I've been here before. This is where I spoke to Dr. Aizen in my dream.

Ulquiorra is surveying me, perhaps awaiting my reaction.

"Lovely."

"You wait till the sun begins to set."

He sits on this grimy log which he seems to have mistaken for a Barcelona chair, and stares into the horizon. I settle myself on this huge rock with a smooth surface before tucking my fists in my pockets. I guess initiation isn't my specialty, but here goes anyway,

"So now will you tell me, Ulquiorra, why you stick to me like you're my faithful shadow? Not that it bothers me as much as it used to."

His pale face, subjected under the classic brilliance of twilight, retains its expressionless persona.

"It's simple. I can't stand being away from you."

It's rather unbecoming, even resentful, to hear such from someone whose resplendent beauty is infectious, and, to think he meant it for another guy, this is simply insane. Jesus, just where in hell did I deliver myself to?

"Lemme guess; it's because you want my blood."

"Yes, and maybe the _whole_ of you, too."

"But you won't kill me, is that it?"

"Wouldn't dream of it, Kurosaki."

"There are so many things I want to know which most probably are intrusive in all respects. Will you answer all of them?"

He consults my face, examining me with careful consideration,

"That's what I promised."

"Good. First: I know for a fact that you're a vampire. Having confirmed that, why won't you die under the sun?"

"Under _this_ sun, you mean. Direct sunlight shall wither us, though very slowly, and dry us up like grapes do when pruned. For that reason we have chosen to settle here, where the sun always, always shies away behind the clouds. The setting sun or twilight, however, whether veiled or unveiled, is our sanctuary because as it sleeps it bids us farewell and announces us freedom to roam unbidden."

"So direct sunlight is harmful to you?"

"For most of us, yes. Specifically for those whose self-healing powers have not developed into full bloom. Mine, for instance."

"Yours?"

"Among us, I'm the one who most shrink away from the sun. I can't stand too much sunlight; it shrivels me more than it does anyone. You'll notice soon enough when summer comes. I'll be staying somewhere else at that time."

"I see… second: Where do you come from, your kind, that is. Were your ancestors cursed by the heavens? Did the devil come to flesh and breed?"

"I don't know it any more than I remember how I was born a human. But Sousuke—father—has a theory. It goes as such that with the world's vastness and the innumerability of its inhabitants, darkness gathers, mysteries are born, the unknown exists. There are not enough words or actions to choose from to paraphrase the reality of life, Kurosaki. And among such realities is the story of my kind's existence."

"Y—you don't know how your kind first came about?"

"There is scarcely a way to know, I'm afraid."

"Do you at least remember how you became a—a vampire?"

"I do. But it's a long story. I advise you to save that for another meeting and concern yourself with the basic particulars; I have to return you to your father before your curfew."

"That can be arranged. Now this: you feed on blood, human blood, don't you? Therefore it's right to assume you take human lives for refreshment, right?"

"Yes."

"Yeah, I get that. But how—?"

"—We replenish with blood by a command of a _singular hunger_, unlike human food whose variety divides your enthusiasm. With that, you can only imagine what sort of ordeal we undergo for our flesh to outgrow its promptings. But alas, my family and I have long ago _resigned_ from such. It's with animal blood that we now replenish. Humans we refuse to touch. It's very difficult, and some of us are still in the process of adapting to it even now. Szayel for instance."

"Does this mean Szayel is dangerous?"

"He is dangerous. He's only been a vampire for a little over a century—he's still very young in our reckoning. But he's scraping by, though mother has to assist him through it."

"That's, er, good…I'm glad you don't drink from humans anymore...but are you sure?"

"Yes, because that would be _inhuman_, evil. Abstinence is our only means of clinging to the last, unstable shred of the humanity that's left in us." He says.

"T—that's very altruistic of you."

He alights from his seat, and with majestic elegance draws himself towards where I'm sitting. Slowly he cups my chin with the tips of his fingers, and gently he lifts my face to confront his. And I, being completely aware I have neither strength nor courage to defy him, can only avoid his gaze.

"Your blood has a scent so overpowering that I can barely think straight. For decades I've only known the flavor of bestial blood and the hardly adequate delight it brings. Being this close to you, Kurosaki, makes me really, really, unbearably, intolerably _thirsty_."

**TBC**


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter IX: Bargain**

Great. The great hereafter is staring at me straight in the face for the _second_ time this week. So, I've had my share of joys and misfortunes; I've always known how to value my family; I've experienced being under the power that allures me to the unknown; I've learned how to recognize the things that call for respect, just as I have secretly enjoyed trampling on certain sanctities… I've never been in love, goddamit. Yeah, I once kissed a girl; nothing to go about singing it out in public since it wasn't anywhere near passionate—I was in _kindergarten_. It was even a stolen one, and was done under the jeers and persuasion of some urchin jerks in my class. Jesus, why is my life fast-tracking before my eyes at this very critical moment? Have I brought upon me more trouble than the worth of knowing the unknowable?

He casts his face closer to mine, as a number of possibilities designate themselves into the blankness of my thoughts. I'm gonna die here. Everything he's doing now contributes to that possibility, and I can almost picture my struggle against him once he buries his damn fangs in my flesh—it's all too vivid that half of it seems palpably real. I have no other thing to feel now but remorse. And so this is how I end, only because my plan doesn't quite match my desired fate—

"Kurosaki." He whispers. His hand slinks away from my chin. With one fist still in his pocket, he stoops his face down the top of my head and begins inhaling, almost affectionately, hungrily, so that here I am stiff and immovable as a hare would be under the scrutiny of a wolf. Strenuously, words escape my throat,

"A—are you even half sure you won't _kill_ me?"

At my words he now appears unable, by means of whatever reserves he has, to maintain a straight face. Retrieving his palm from my head, he secures both fists in his pockets, and backs away from me abruptly,

"I wouldn't do that on god's green Earth." He says with indignation too fervent for his usual behavior.

I've heard that damn line before. If I'm not mistaken, Grimmjow told me the exact same line when I asked the very same thing.

"You do realize you're scaring me half to death by coming on to me like that, don't you?"

He looks away, as if too seek for a short reprieve. Without returning my glance, he apologizes, "Forgive me. That wasn't my intention. If I have failed in making it clear I wouldn't harm you, I'm giving you my word now. Keep it and remember it always."

I simply don't know how to answer that. Like, one moment ago I was sure I felt this singleness of intention in him to drink from me, and now he's making this apologetic assurance which is making me wince with its reverent nature.

"I—I need to be going home in a very short while, Ulquiorra." is all I can say.

"Yes, I understand."

The brooding darkness upon us has reached quite an unendurable silence. He resumes watching over the sun's descent which proves to be as deceptive as the summer lighting. I'm finding it hard to figure out how best to deal with the light's strange persona, a fact which is amplified by his face which now bathes in orange rays. Is he really this beautiful or is it just an illusion of light? At length he rouses from his activity and abandons the horizon to its own course.

He casts me a fleeting glance, "Shall we go now?"

"Yeah. I guess time's up."

We make our way to the clearing, where Neliel's car is parked, in exactly the same manner we came by. In minutes we find ourselves tracing our route back to the town with neither of us procuring any comment to initiate a conversation. I consult my watch as we hit my house's street. It's already fifteen past six, and the descent of darkness is already complete by now. He pulls over in front of my house.

"Thank you for the time, Kurosaki. I hope I managed to answer your queries sufficiently." Ulquiorra says, still in a deep preoccupation, as I unload myself from the car.

"Yeah, er, I guess I'll see you at school."

"Do I still frighten you?"

I glance nervously around before saying in a half-humorous intonation, "Perhaps. Though that doesn't exactly mean I'll be avoiding you."

He nods, clearly unsatisfied, possibly even resentful, as it occurs to me that this scene we're conjuring is pretty much remindful of a romantic date coming to an end. My skin crawls at the thought. I really have to put an end to this before dad walks in on us in this position, which for a stranger may appear to be some sort of a secluded confidentiality. Taking a long while to say goodbye to a guy who's dropping you to your house is one thing; anything further is another.

"That's good enough for me. I'm taking off for now. Goodnight to you."

To my immense relief, the car juts off without further ado. I head straight to my room and in the process gets myself attacked by questions I don't ever want to answer,

"Oni-san, did a girl give you a lift home?" Yuzu squeals in visible delight.

"Yeah."

"She has a very nice car. Is she _pretty_?"

"Very pretty." I lie, and before another question makes its way to my ears I tuck myself into my room.

As I have secured my door shut before turning the lights on, I have to grope around for the switch. I press the switch, and in one swift moment a complex sight introduces itself to my eyes:

Grimmjow Jaggerjack is reclined on my swivel chair with his one leg splayed over the other, arms resting on the armrests.

"What the fuck—what is the meaning of this?" I hiss almost inaudibly, for the trouble of having my sisters discovering me accommodating a handsome prick into my room may take up an entirely different meaning.

"Did you have a good time with Ulquiorra?" he asks with a smile that seems to speak for a million malicious intents.

"What's it to you anyway? But more importantly, shouldn't you be concerning yourself with the possible charges I can heap on you? This is trespassing, if you must know."

"Yeah, right. Like, you can _really_ press charges against me."

"What do you want? I'm really tired."

"I just came to ask, did you have a good time with Ulquiorra?" he persists, seeming insensible to whatever hostile reproach I'm throwing at him.

"Will you fucking stop spying on me? This is stalking, man, and it's _scaring_ me to death." I say, knowing that I have sounded thoroughly weak without having the excuse of being a damn girl to make the word 'scaring' more acceptable.

He springs from the chair, stuffs his fists in his pockets, and flits his way to me. His smirk fades, and his eyes now have acquired the personality of a fiend. It's not dismay, nor is it distaste, that now clings on him; it's anger, an anger that borders on the obscene. At this time my eyes have just about forgotten how to blink and my legs won't attend to my brain's biddings. He pushes me against the wall, and plants both his palms at my sides, thus caging me between his arms. Sweating accordingly with what this dreadful turn of reality is presenting, a thought hits me; I'm in the claws of a vampire. He speaks, with his face a mere inch from mine,

"I'm _scaring_ you? By doing what? Coming in here unannounced? And Ulquiorra has had time with you alone for what? A couple of hours? In which he told you how hungry he was for your blood? And you ain't one bit scared of the bastard. Now how do you justify yourself, Kurosaki."

This is sick. So sick in fact that it makes me too limp and depleted of energy to bother rejecting the whole point of his anger. To make my meaning plain, what he's clearly demonstrating is jealousy, or anything resembling it, which, again, is making me sick in the stomach. Thus, I've just about lost the inclination to be frightened by his approach, or by any part of him for that matter; at least for now. I feel like I'm being left with the hassle of fending after a damn three year-old.

"Grimmjow, calm the fuck down. No need to be damn _jealous_." I say, feigning disinterest, though inside I'm entertaining the hope that he'd get a grip of himself in hearing the accursed, mocking J-word.

Gradually his glare loses its intensity, but on the whole he retains this deep disapproval.

"You expect that much from me when you just about _went ou_t with my brother?"

"Know what, Grimmjow? Fuck this. I'm not going out with anyone, dammit, most especially not with a guy, because, if the world hasn't made it clear enough, I'm also a guy. And maybe you can do a little salvaging of your dignity by denying that you're damn jealous."

Looking exactly as though he digested none of my blatant hints, he says,

"I heard him. He said your blood makes him thirsty. Like, he came on to you, pronounced your name—dammit—did he—damn—_touch_ you? Did he—shit—_kiss_ you?" He asks with the same vehement distress of someone who's lost quite a fortune. Really now, you'd think someone nicked a million bucks from him and, with the way he's clutching clumps of his hair, he's as good as delivering himself to the ward.

At this point, something unknown comes dawning on my life; that I maybe am the most unfortunate bloke that ever walked on two legs. Just what the fuck is happening to this sick, sad world? I grab one of his arms and wrench it away from the wall, to which he doesn't resist.

"Grimmjow, see my bed over there? Yeah, that one, go over there, sit the fuck down, and recall everything you have said tonight. Just fucking listen to yourself."

"And then what?"

"Just sit down."

He whisks past my swivel chair and makes himself comfortable on my bed. Once seated, he casts me a searching glance with impatience, which very much deserves the description.

"Now I'm seated. Now answer me, Ichigo. Did he—"

"—he didn't kiss me, okay? He touched me, alright; stroked my hair just exactly the way _you_ did when you first paid me a damn visit—"

"—he did? The nerve of the fucking bastard! Why didn't you shove him off—"

"—yeah, like, that would be the smartest thing to do because we were alone in the forest, he's a vampire, I'm human, and the only thing I had for defense were my bare hands—"

"—to hell with that. Kicking him in the nuts would have been a piece o'cake—"

"—my damn point is, you should at all cost STOP spying on me if you're gonna let all these false, presumptuous conclusions infest your damn mind, so that you wouldn't appear like a damn imbecile who likes to hurl everywhere stupid accusations which have _nothing_ to do with reality."

"I'm not spying on _you_, Jesus; I'm spying on Ulquiorra."

I sigh. Even being wrung to the last and final point of my patience for his absurdities, I manage to say as calmly as possible,

"Well, then, you should stop doing _that_. Stalking is a serious offense and is a sign of moral bankruptcy."

"Well, dammit, if you want that to happen, you'll have to stay away from my brother. That's a reasonable trade."

"I ain't dating your damn brother; the idea itself is moronic—"

"—just how inconsiderate can you get? I waited for you here, here in your boring room, for _hours_ on end, and then all of a sudden I heard Ulquiorra say your name and—and—god knows—"

"—What did you say?" I cut through, for some revelation has risen amidst his senseless rants.

"You. Are. Too. Fucking. Insensitive." He answers through gritted teeth, as if he has no other choice but to put it in plain Japanese and say his thoughts outright. But never mind how he said it; that's not what I was asking…

"No—you were here _all the time_? I thought you were spying on us; you watched us, didn't you?"

"Hell no. I don't even know where you two had gone off to. I went into the car with Neliel, Szayel, and Stark, and bounded home with them, remember? All I know is that he came on to you, and—"

I study him skeptically, "You weren't there? How the hell did you know what Ulquiorra was saying?"

There's a long pause.

"I could hear him."

"But you said you waited here. You couldn't have heard—"

"—I can hear from that distance." He snips through, rubs his palm over his temple, and continues upon noticing the wonder that's dazing my eyes, "It's my special ability. I can hear people talk, if I give it enough concentration, up to a certain stretch of distance. That's why I pretty much figured out the sum of what you and Ulquiorra talked about when your dad picked you up from our house."

My head is lapsing into darkness, making the majority of the things around me cease to be altogether real. In between bouts of confusion, I succeed to ask,

"W—what? If that's the damn case, if you can hear me from anywhere, how come you keep on suspecting me having this thing about your damn brother?"

"You're a special case."

"Special case?"

"Out of all the people I've met, you're the only one who's able to deflect my power—this ability. I can't hear you from afar. My power won't damn work on you."

"W—what else are you capable of, besides employing that heightened sense of hearing? Can you read people's minds?"

"Nah. Nothing more. Ulquiorra gets special visions though, that's why he's all pompous and haughty. Sometimes he gets to see what's literally outside his vision. He's probably watching us now from his room. Well, let him get envious till he turns green. Serves him right."

"Do all vampires have special abilities?"

"I don't think so. Stark is completely devoid of talent. I reckon he's the only one in the family who hasn't got one."

"What can the others do?"

" Simple things. Like, Szayel can smell blood up to ten thousand miles of distance, and with that he can determine certain qualities in a creature. Something like that or another."

"How is that possible?"

"How? It's a long story—"

"—come on, tell me."

"Well, for example, he says Stark's blood smells saltier than most. It must mean, according to him, that Stark is made of pure sturdiness. And he's right, mind you; that lazy bloke is the strongest in the family. He's even stronger than Sousuke, I suspect; not that Father would admit that."

"How strong is Stark?"

"He runs the fastest, his body is next to indestructible, and his strength is brute force. Only that, he's a lazy prick and is hardly of any use to us."

I dart to my bed and sit beside him with a renewed enthusiasm about whatever info about his family he's ready to give out.

"What about Neliel-san?"

Grimmjow cranes his neck, subjecting our faces into a closer confrontation. He grins.

"Do you really wanna know?"

"Well, yeah, all these have caught my undivided attention." I answer, feeling it impossible to resist the interesting facts in store for me, hence it's imperative to divert him from getting his mood spoiled.

He cracks a smile which has all the fidelity of great acting. He leans closer to me, from which I'm not backing away for some reason. I can feel his fingers brushing against my hair with the delicacy of an adept hand. He speaks,

"I'll tell you all there is to know but it comes with a price."

With the face he's wearing now, I therefore conclude some sort of premeditated act is brooding over the upper reaches of his brain. I guess I'll have to play along; maybe all shall go well.

"I see. What shall I give you in return, Grimmjow?"

"Well, I have this idea—it's just an idea; nothing as nearly solid as a proposal."

"What exactly?" I ask skeptically.

His fingers, while exploring the texture of my hair, loom weightless in their movements as they slither over my scalp. His smirk degenerates into a rather sincere smile which is a shade too perfect for the camera. For a time silence dominates us, making everything go stale as time ticks. But this silence is too relentless, too rigorous to be endured for too long without discomfort, so he answers,

"I'll tell you, Ichigo, _everything_, but you'll have to give me something in return."

"What is it?"

His hand aborts its activities on my head but it remains there, unmoving.

"You'll have to _kiss_ me."

**TBC**

**A/N: pardon me for the errors.**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N**: This is still raw and is probably ridden with errors. Pardon me for that.

**Chapter X: Warning**

You, never in your life, would see a face twisted to a more malignant shade than what I'm looking at right now; like, I can actually bet my ass on it. I sit here, frozen in spot, as his face idles inches from mine. If my vision is to be trusted, he looks damn dishy from here, only that he probably won't stay handsome for long as I'm teetering on the verge of stuffing my fist into his face.

"Will you, for fucking once, try to be serious, if not altogether decent?"I hiss in an attempt to sound somehow threatening.

His candor, it seems, cannot be expelled by mere expression of severe irritation, and lending emphasis to that is the way he's retaining his smirk.

"I'm being absolutely serious. But I'm not shoving you into it. If you don't wanna do it now I can wait for a day or two." He asserts with an air of unwavering conceit, as if he's in the most perfect position to give out conditions on which the outcome of things shall depend.

By this time my irritation has reached full throttle. So I lash out, which is perfectly reasonable as I can't really stay sane about what's going on,

"I don't wanna do it ever! Don't you people even attach any significance to decency? I'm a dude, man, not a Barbie!"

His smirk pulls feebly away. With his lips twitching as if to thrive in abandonment, he speaks,

"You're not? Thanks for clearing that up but… it doesn't change a damn thing. Look at you; you seem to be very revolted by my idea. No worries here. I'll be patient because, chances are, I'll be getting that kiss in no time." With the sort of face he's wearing, I'd be damned if fascination would have done him any justice.

So my disgust only serves as a petty obstacle after all. I'm currently sporting the blankest face one could have dreamed of imagining, and along with it is my brain's continuous issuance of stupid orders to my limbs; I'm really having a difficult time trying to prevent my fist from pelting to his damn cheek.

"Dream on, asshole."

"Dreams do come true."

"That's fucking corny."

"Still, it's true."

"Stop it, dammit; it's sending eerie chills all over me. It's disgusting."

Clearly, the remaining of my temper won't last for much now that even by my tiniest actions one can tell how tired I really am. Hoping that he's not entirely invulnerable to hints, I look expressively away as if such would help.

"Well, Kurosaki, the evening has gathered up. I'll be bouncing off for now." He finally announces and, to my immense relief, demonstrates the sincerity of his departure by standing up.

"Yeah, do that and don't ever fucking come back."

Another grin cracks his lips apart, but this comment cannot end without mentioning the irremovable malice playing along every corner of his damn face.

"That's a pretty harsh dismissal. Can you rephrase that? If you can't I'll have to stand here until you change your mind."

With my annoyance appearing plain to any naked eye, I say, with quite an amount of force arising out of each syllable,

"Good night, Grimmjow."

"That's better." He says, and, as if remembering something, pauses before continuing, "Shouldn't you be wishing me luck with my hunt tonight?"

That appeases me a for a second, and in the next harps my curiosity,

"Your what?"

"I'm going. Ciao."

"No—what are you gonna do out there?"

"Out to kill."

He already has one foot over my windowpane. I peruse him, trying to verify something that isn't supposed to be.

"W—what are you having, exactly?"

He withdraws his foot from the windowpane. He burrows his gaze to mine with such a frightening intensity that I now become wholly convinced that his brilliant blue eyes can perhaps do what cold steel always does.

"Good point asking; I still haven't decided. Perhaps a virgin would taste most delectable, wouldn't she?"

I hurl him a glare, indicating there's neither rhyme nor reason to what he has just said, though somehow fear abounds…

"That's a bad joke."

"Is it, now? You started it. I suppose you refused to believe a word of Ulquiorra when he told you we've long ago stopped laying hands on humans. I don't blame you; that git is made of pure bull whose most productive occupation is perpetrating deeds of crappiness. So, allow me to inform you that I will be hunting a bear or a wild cat for tonight. Happy now?"

"Satisfied. Are you very hungry?"

"Yeah. You wanna know what the funny thing is? I was doing okay before I got here. And then you came along, smelling sweeter than ever. Really, sometimes I amaze myself for managing to suppress the most violent of lusts. In any case, you can detain me longer if you're not interested in safeguarding your neck."

He resumes his retreat by mounting one leg over the window, mutually suggesting he means not to express the truth or otherwise of what he has just said.

"Get going now, alright."

"Right, Ichigo."

...

Physical Education class is now turning out to be a thousand pities for me. You see, back in Junior High I was the glorious captain of the Sprint Team; like, I could literally outrun a damn ambulance. No bull. This day, however, is marking the end of all sprinting glories—for me. To expound on that, the day goes as such that my block, Freshmen Section 3, is in the meantime sharing the one-hectare field with a class of sophomores, Sophomores Section 6. Having said that, you can't, at this time, be capable of brewing what in hell is my damn problem. My problem is this: Grimmjow Jaggerjack, a fucking irksome super-being, is on the same field with me, and as I have earlier in the day carved it in stone that I'd make jaws drop with my speed before the session ends, you can pretty much imagine how much of a joy-killing, glory-robbing son of a gun he is at this moment. So, yeah, there he is, making history on the outer lane as our coach plants himself beside their coach, and god knows what sort of worshipful commentaries they're exchanging. To make the long story short, my 12-second 100-meter dash dallies unacknowledged at the background. Come to think of it, Grimmjow can pull that off without breaking a damn sweat. And I am now sweating like swine. Yeah, like, what a surprise. He can go for 90mph, and all these idiots around me are wetting their pants as he hits the hundred by more or less 10 seconds.

Fucking show-off.

I sit myself on the bleachers, from which I can see the bastard sending smirks all over the place and girls glowing red on the cheeks at his show. This is moronic. Why, the sun has chosen the most perfect occasion to be away! If only it would shine on us, just this once, and blast its rays on the bastard of a vampire that is Gimmjow, I'd be very much experiencing something like justice. Yeah, he can just wither to death any minute now; I'm quite sure it's not too much to ask—

"He's pretty fast."

It's Rukia. Well, it's kinda embarrassing on my part to have missed on noticing her, seeing as the damn area is empty except for us. I must have stomped my way here too bitterly for me to give a flying fuck about anyone who might witness my grumbling. Or maybe it's more stupid than it is embarrassing. Whichever weighs more I don't particularly care.

"Oh, Rukia, didn't see you there. Er, yeah, I think he's really fast."

She clamps her hands together and props her chin on them. Meditatively, she eyes Grimmjow with a peculiarly watchful gaze. It's pretty hard to guess or to concentrate on what it means, for, as I trace the target of her gaze, Grimmjow returns the favor by winking at my direction.

"You're friends with the Aizen Children, aren't you?" she asks, making it sound factual rather than assuming.

That gets me thinking, what exactly is my relationship with Grimmjow and Ulquiorra? Neliel is more of an acquaintance; nothing as intimate as a buddy…

"Sort of yeah."

Ooops. It just slipped. It slipped out like some kind of impulse that's so surprising it probably is a tragic revelation about myself. Me? Friends with those bastards? By god, this is the first time that the thought of having a couple more friends is causing me more alarm than pleasure.

"I figured that much." She says, as if to no one in particular. Her tone, however, is brimming with such a knowing edge that I almost feel like wanting to scowl at her.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I inquire, in the hopes of successfully parading a tinge of indignity at her assertion.

"Nothing. I noticed they're especially keen on keeping tabs on you, which is something as rare as nothing else." She answers without looking at me, an abstract, almost unthinking, consideration evident in her gaze.

"Rare?"

"Can you dispute that, Ichigo?"

"I don't know. I still don't know them—to any depth." I say—that which is a total lie. Jesus, this is just the type of conversation I'd be willing to chuck out without a damn hesitation, even if it meant spending a few private minutes with a chick like Rukia.

"Really? I was under the impression that you had gone off with Ulquiorra on his red Mustang yesterday."

Luckily, although these exchanges with her are becoming more of a strain than I was ever cruel enough to show, I manage to hold back my impending retorts.

"I couldn't have said 'no' to a free ride on a gorgeous Mustang, could I? If you, however, choose not to understand that, I hope the fact that I'm a man who holds distinct fondness over sports cars would somehow suffice for an explanation." I say coolly.

"Alright, I'll get straight to the point." She says, and then she sighs, and without any prelude to a most peculiar remark continues, "I'm advising you against getting too intimate with them, the Aizens."

I only have enough mindset to shoot a quick glance at Grimmjow before securing my gaze back at her. In the split second I have devoted to gather Grimmjow's reaction to this, I caught an unmistakable, cold contempt flash in his eyes. He heard her; I'm quite sure of that, and he's not too happy about it.

"Oh, come on, Rukia, they're not as bad as you think!"

"You don't know what I'm thinking. You don't know what I know."

My heart contracts. Is it possible that I'm not alone in carrying that one great truth, the only truth, but nevertheless the deplorable truth, in my mind? No, it's not possible; it just can't be.

"What are you trying to say?" I ask with each syllable given its due stress.

"Depend upon it; you'll be thanking me in no distant date ahead."

I don't know what's propelling these coarse activities of my chest to go on, but surely I've to have a say to her not-so-misplaced warnings.

"Not if I can avoid it. In any case, I thank you for your concern."

"Ichigo, please, just—"

"—Just what, Rukia? Stay away from my weird friends? I'm sorry but I can't do that. Not when I've gone too deep in it."

She is looking thoroughly stiff and mortified. She protracts her head to the ground to augment her mute distress, which on her part is sincere. At length she recovers her ground and begins,

"Don't you get it? He fancies you! Ulquiorra Scheiffer fancies you like a boy should fancy a girl! I'm not gonna let you—I just can't—"

"—Let me what?"

"Be that way, of course! I know he's handsome, rich, intelligent, and everything, but if you could just…" She falters, and, as color flushes her cheeks scarlet, understanding dawns on me. She's jealous. I would've laughed openly if only my pride were not as high as to refuse to deal with such petty triumph.

I let my eyes wander to where Grimmjow is. Meters away from us, he is pulling a few stretches to prepare for another dash.

"I understand how you feel, but your suspicion is unwarranted for I can't submit to such inclination. There's no way in hell Ulquiorra would get what he wants, if he indeed is holding something like that for me."

Rukia heaves a sigh. Finally, without attending to my assurance, she stands up.

"Okay. I'll stretch now." She proceeds to the field, leaving me as though the topic we have just discussed was away from anyone's interests except my own alone. Are all girls as untoward as she is? If so, I can just go about having a field day with ego-boosting.

...

The end of the day is delivering me more inconveniences than I can conceivably handle. Grimmjow Jaggerjack is right outside my classroom, leaning against a column, perhaps knowing he'll receive nothing less than my cold dismissal. He's sporting a face that suggests mischief is at work.

"What do you want?"

Students are flooding the hallway, as if to signal me to keep my voice down if I don't want to create an episode from this most unwanted encounter.

"So, you gonna follow your friend's advice?" he asks. People around us have started to stare, for surely Grimmjow is revealing more teeth than they're accustomed to seeing. Therefore, for totally different reasons from before, I badly want him away from me. He's grinning like an escaped lunatic, only that he's just the sort of lunatic who can smile the pants off women and men alike, and if I'm not planning on making his beauty shine more brilliantly by contrast with mine I should better leave.

"I don't know what you're blabbering about. Goodbye." I sidestep him.

"Not so fast." I hear him murmur just in time before I hunker away from him.

I can't sense anyone trailing my behind which, however, doesn't come as a comfort to me, simply because you can't escape a vampire. Especially not when his foremost occupation is to stalk you, and most certainly not when his current obsession is to win a kiss from you.

I hastily scoot my way outside the building for no particular consequence. Yeah, there's no sound to worry about, no sight that might threaten my complacency, and no other presence to rob me of my peace. And yet I know someone's right behind me. I turn around. In no time flat does he materialize before me from a blur.

"Grimmjow, there's a shitload of homework I have to finish, so if you could save taking a few precious hours from me, I'd be forever grateful."

His inherent expertise in giving me an electric shock with his malicious grin comes in full-play. Despite being on an open space with a number of other individuals on it, I feel abjectly cornered by an inescapable mishap.

"I just asked you a question. Do you plan on staying away from me? Your friend—what's her name?—has strongly advised you to cut ties with Ulquiorra which, frankly, isn't so stinking an idea. In fact it's _genius_. But would you do the same to me? If she asked you to? She's cute, by the way."

I'm quite sure the grin he's pulling now will haunt me in long days ahead. Just what the hell is so funny anyway?

"Stay away from you? Let's see… if I try to calculate the mathematical probability of my success in that—staying away from you—it'll amount to something…well, guess, Grimmjow."

He rubs his chin to complete a poor imitation of serious meditation.

"Hmm… how about close to zero?"

"Try harder."

"Very close to zero?"

"Just a bit more."

"Really very close to zero?"

"No, dammit. The answer is damn zero."

"Oh." He grins in as much delight had satisfaction come to him unsought.

"You know why?" I pursue.

His grin climbs one degree higher on the malignity scale. I can faintly discern that the astounding quality of his imagination is being employed to complete operation.

"Is it because you're hopelessly in love with me?"

I have long ago gone past the stage of getting stupefied by his obscenity, therefore I'm given the privilege to stay calm about his heinous remark. So I answer,

"No. It's so damn far away from being that, mind you. It's the other way around, mister. And if you won't believe that, why don't you try going away from me, just this fucking once. Or _can't_ you?"

His lips slacken, his arms droop at his sides, and his brows are starting to form a set of complicated creases on his forehead. At last, t's my turn to be the mighty smirking son of a bitch.

"You have the damn nerve, Kurosaki."

"I sure do. But really now, Grimmjow, what's to be done here? I have to get going, and if you keep following me around you'd just give me more reason to think you are, in point of fact, _in love with me_."

My lips are curling into a sinister curve that could've sent a hyena fleeing. Looking entirely discommoded, he on the other hand stays rooted to where he is, neither smiling nor frowning, like a frozen shadow without a substance or a quality of its own.

I continue, "See you later, Grimmjow Jaggerjack Aizen."

As I walk away from the speechless bastard, my tread regains its fundamental pace even granted that I'm really alone now and that I should've acquired more perks. Oh sweet victory is mine indeed—

"Ichigo."

Something in the manner of his appeal eggs me to turn around, and when I do so it strikes me that so much in his countenance is bent on inspiring terror in me. And so it happens that the matter is not yet closed; on the contrary, it's only beginning…

"Yeah, Grimmjow?"

He pegs his way to me, his eyes largely accountable to a thousand malicious intents and lips resuming their former features, before stopping short of a foot from me. I look warily around, hoping for some unforeseen turn of fortune, anything. He removes one of his hands from his pocket, reaches out for my head, and pulls me close to his face—close enough for a kiss. He whispers,

"Come with me. Come to my house, to my room."

TBC

A/N: If Rukia's pleas to Ichigo sound very much like Severus Snape's to Lily Evans revealed in The Deathly Hallows, you got me. Thanks for reading. I'm really, really sorry for the slow pacing. I just can't find a way to do it otherwise.


	11. Broken

**Chapter XI: Broken**

Never in my life had I any problems with sexual harassment; didn't even have the misfortune to deal with it or even bother equipping myself with the necessary defenses against it—until NOW. On top of this, it's beginning to descend on me that I failed to recognize it from the start, from the time I fell over him on the damned fire exit which was donkey weeks ago. There's simply no use trying to identify what could have made me so fucking blind to all his past advances. What would come in handy, though, is to bring my urge of kicking him in the nuts to material fulfillment.

"Are you nuts? Who in Allah's name would wanna come into your room?" I flare out without giving way to any restraint borne out of the fear of offending a vampire.

"You."

"I—I can't. I told you; I have a lot to get over with tonight. My assignments for instance."

"Is it algebra?"

"How—never mind—yeah, it's algebra."

"Then I'll ask Neliel to help you with it. After which we can proceed to my room. What say you?" he asks without a grin, without anything for me to decipher what's cooking inside his skull. But, apart from it all, having to spend several minutes with his sister sounds utterly delightful. If only I could find a way to attain such without having to pass through Grimmjow's devices…

"I really can't. I'm sorry." I refuse slowly as if with regret, which I should've demonstrated earnestly out of courtesy.

At this, something stirs in the depths of his blue eyes, something dark and massive, something that resembles night. One corner of his lips twitches, and his pupils, never leaving mine, glint with such an underlying vehemence that's bound to thunder like an implacable force. I've never seen him this angry before, nor do I wish to witness this again in any time ahead.

"Tell me, Kurosaki, how long did it take Ulquiorra to convince you to come with him to that secluded fucking place? Two minutes? I'm betting it was no more than that." He says it with firmness and resolution which are almost savage. Indeed, savage is his face, for which no one could have bestowed any other description.

"Yeah, it might have been two minutes. But I didn't have any other engagement at that time; no homework whatsoever. Besides, he promised to tell me all I wanted to know without a darn price. I suppose that suffices for a clarification."

It occurs to me that I'm actually, inexplicably feeling disposed to offer explanations as though it's my responsibility to do so, as if something committal binds me into it. It then also occurs to me that I'm currently being a complete moron.

"Is he that much better than me, then?"

Questions like this, if ever I have heard one of its sort, make me wonder why life should continue afterwards. This is getting so absurd I might as well get this settled by challenging him to a footrace. More than anything, I have to clear something up once and for all.

Because I have only a scant margin for errors, I heave a deep sigh to prepare myself for that which requires a safe choice of words,

"And how the hell does it come to that? Just—Grimmjow, listen here—this _can't_ go on. I can be your friend, your fan, your worshipper, but the fact remains that I can't be anything more than that. The same holds true with your brother. Go get a _girlfriend_, someone who's more appropriate, with tits, basically. Or better yet, someone like the superhuman that you are."

"…"

"…"

This I must tell for this is history: the expected squall does not approach. From where I stand, he seems transparently offended, try as he might to present himself as otherwise. He swallows the lump in his throat as such human mannerism makes me wonder how often the senseless lump in one's throat the only thing one has to swallow. I can tell one of his fists has balled tighter inside his pocket, an observation I have rather guessed than seen. With his slender hand he strokes the protruding strands of his bangs to secure them away from his face, perhaps to momentarily display the ruthless, appalling intensity that now plagues it. Finally, he looks away and, allowing neither a grunt nor a sigh to escape him, turns around.

I watch his back gradually reduce in size as he slinks farther and farther away from me. For a second, guilt and my natural inclination to courteous sympathy strike to move me to say something or holler him back. In the end there's just nothing I can say. To say nothing is to say all; this is what I want, isn't it? to be rid of him, finally.

I continue to head straight, looking completely as though what has recently disturbed me has dissipated to total obscurity.

"Ichigo!"

It's Rukia. She's scuffling about her heels, trying to catch up with me.

"Hey." I greet rather despondently. "Going home?"

"Yeah. Renji and the others have trotted off without me. Can I walk with you?"

"Yeah, no problem."

Girded with gladness at my consent, she smiles at me before pulling ahead. We walk on together, after which nothing occurs worthy of noting.

...

Today is another Saturday. Today, I'm just your regular teenage kid who has nothing to do with the supernatural, vampires specifically. Today, I'm boarding on a camping trip with Renji and the gang.

I arrive at the rendezvous point earlier than intended, what with dad driving like a maniac being chased by the CIA. There, Inoue, Ishida, Toushiro, and Kira are already waiting.

"Be careful, kids." Dad says. I'm barely out of the car when he winks at me, before revving the engine to another wild ride on a highway to hell. In no time Rukia, Renji, Hanatarou, and Chad join in the convention.

For a more or less adequate account of this sudden arrangement, allow me to start by saying camping isn't my ideal solution to kill the contagious weekend boredom, and, as a fact, I would've been beating away with Guitar Hero 3 right at this hour if it weren't for the persistent, nonstop mode of invitation Inoue and Rukia applied on me two days prior. Minutes later I found myself nodding vacantly to appease both. So now here I am.

We take an hour-long hike over rocks and blades of grass taller than me. In time, the reward of which comes into view; a neat cabin is standing forlorn across a shallow, clear stream.

"Are you sure there aren't any wild beasts in here?" I hear Hanatarou ask Renji.

"Can't be too sure of that. We're prepared for that, aren't we, Kira?"

"You bet."

Kira taps the bulk of his baggage to indicate something.

"What do you have there?" Ishida asks him.

"A couple of hunting rifles." Kira answers. I must say I'm impressed. He resumes upon catching the assorted expressions on our faces; Ishida, for one, is looking thoroughly wiped out, "No worries here; I'm a pretty good shot, and it's loaded with rubber bullets."

"Cool. Can I try it?" Toushiro asks.

"I suggest we only use it if anything necessitates it, like an emergency or something. But if you insist, we can make rounds later in the day. I'm pretty loaded with pellets."

This may turn out to be a pretty decent event after all.

Renji has put up a bonfire to raise the temperature. We're circled around the flame, away from any concern outside this peaceful parcel of land-except perhaps my thoughts which are reluctantly voyaging to something, someone, whose persistent fixedness makes him impossible to forget, even for a second. At intervals I can hear Toushiro and Kira hitting metal targets from a distance. I let my eyes wander around, only to arrive at one conclusion: maybe this is the crowd in which I belong. Ghost stories, urban legends, extraterrestrial findings, scientific anomalies… these topics assault the air tonight without the slightest regard to the late hour. The unsuspecting voices around me are steadily climbing by decibels, urging my ears to grow more engrossed minute after minute.

Somehow I can't help feeling that I'm being watched. The feeling intensifies when Rukia sits beside me to hand me a cup of hot chocolate.

Hours later, some of us have tucked themselves beneath the sheets, leaving the cicadas' chirping to dominate the midnight air. Suspiciously, the night has grown doubly onerous with the silence, instead of growing more serene. Oddly enough, the darkness mystifies me. I find myself groping around for one of Kira's rifles for no definite reason. Before I know it, I'm plowing ahead yards away from the cabin, rifle in hand.

Something behind me nails down my flight.

"Where are you going, Kurosaki-kun?"

Inoue Orihime has hobbled after me. I'm not rude enough to ask her to head back and leave me alone. I mean, turning a pretty girl away on a night like this, with absolute privacy and all, is advisable in selected contexts such as that when you wanna remain single forever.

"Just for a walk. And you?"

"I followed you. But isn't it too dangerous to be out here in the forest alone?"

"That's why I have Kira's lovely rifle with me."

"Well, if you're really determined to take a stroll at this hour—maybe—I think I should accompany you." She says hesitantly, a reddish glow mounting up her cheeks under the paleness of the moon.

"O—okay."

The word juts out my mouth only to contradict the reality of what I'm about to discover. A sudden apparition flashes vaguely from a distance. Or my eyes are deceiving me. I swing around to look at Inoue. Thankfully she's too busy attending to her steps to notice anything out of the ordinary. But now I've become thoroughly aware that something is stirring in the darkness. There's an activity in there that's too unnatural for human eyes to behold. There are movements behind the shadows that are too coarse and at the same time too fluid to be believed probable.

Something is howling, and no sooner than Inoue lifts her head from her feet does a piercing wail of a defeated animal reach our ears. Out of pure impulse, I leap in front of Inoue to block her view from what's laid out before us.

On this night, under the same sky and on the same valley, the vampires are roaming the soil.

I reach out for Inoue's waist behind me and pull her against my back to keep the track of her gaze on it and on nothing else.

"Kurosaki-kun, is it a wounded animal?"

"It looks like it. Listen, Inoue-san, turn around and head back to the cabin—"

"Why? I want to help the poor thing, too." She pleads.

"N—no. Y—you really shouldn't see this. Please. Turn around and don't look back."

She doesn't stir a muscle for several seconds. One quick glance is all it takes to reconcile her thoughts to my visible, suspicious trembling.

"A—are you alright?" She asks me.

"I—I'm fine. Please make haste to the cabin."

Alas, she bustles off with the docile act of not looking back just as what I have instructed her. About what I'm looking at right now:

A meter before me is a tiny abyss whose pit wallows three meters below the ground I'm standing on. Down below is a black bear, or some other poor creature, its neck ripped open by a most savage incision. I would've easily settled with a less gruesome conclusion about the manner by which it was killed…

…if it weren't for the sight of someone crouching over the dead beast, soundlessly sucking its blood dry.

There are two of them. The one who's feeding doesn't show any indication that he has detected my presence, though I'm damn sure he has sensed me. The other one is standing over him with arms folded across his chest, looking as though he's monitoring his companion's activity purely out of duty.

"Easy now, Szayel. We're being watched."

Stark, the eldest son of Aizen Sousuke, lazily tilts his head at my direction to gesture at me, as if I'm the least of his considerations. Szayel kneels up to reveal a bloody set of teeth, with a fang protruding from each corner of his lips, before grinning to complete a most malevolent expression.

"I can smell your blood from here." Szayel, the youngest of the Aizen children, informs _me_.

**TBC**

**A/N: Pardon me for the errors and thanks for reading.  
**


	12. Szayel Apollo Grantz

**Chapter XII: Szayel Apollo Grantz**

**...**

I give my forestalled figure a jerk to check if I'm still capable of moving. I barely am. The cold wind, the pale rays of moonlight, the pungent smell of blood; everything is lending assistance to the horror awaiting me. By some other faculties I'm suddenly being reminded that I'm not alone in this, that eight other people are in danger of a most horrid revelation, but the seconds pass by, insurmountable and heedless, offering no relief—

"Shut it. You're scaring him." Stark tells his brother sternly. It takes me a few seconds to digest what he has just said. And then, by some hopeful belief, I comfort myself with the thought that I probably am not entering a cavernous tragedy.

Szayel rises, taking no heed of the animal at his feet which is twitching with the last convulsions of a life that has flown out. He scowls at his brother who still hasn't moved from his spot. Taking a step forward with caution he dabs his fingers on the blood in his lips. Consequently my wits bend beneath the weight of the probability that the blood he's wiping off his jaws is as good as mine. Sure enough, he lifts his gaze to me, only to convey the message that a god somewhere has marked me for death.

He is very beautiful.

There is an androgynous, rather effeminate, cruelty in the combined features of his narrow eyes, oblong skull, wide mouth, and pretty nose that gives him the expression of a frighteningly beautiful witch.

"It was just a comment, Stark, and nothing more."

"Good. Now finish the damned thing so we can scram the hell out already."

"Sheesh. You're so impatient. Should you really be exhibiting your shameless petulance before an audience?" Szayel asks his brother with an unbecoming, mocking ring to it.

Stark heaves a tired sigh and scratches the back of his head. He turns to me.

"It's Kurosaki, right?"

I must add that Stark is also extremely good-looking, but he does not possess the remarkably bizarre features that Szayel's androgyny offers. But to focus on the turn of events at this moment, I should say I haven't completely abandoned the idea of being in danger, though I'm still unable to adapt to the thought that they're not planning to bleed me dry. Nevertheless, I speak,

"Yep, that name is mine. Er, I'm sorry to have run into you at a time like this. I guess I'm heading back—"

"—Don't. I entreat you. We're having so much fun here, aren't we, Stark? Stay, Kurosaki." Szayel says.

Stark glowers at his brother.

"I'm warning you. If this gets out of hand I'll _personally_ take care of you. We're leaving."

"Oh come on. Why do you always have to be such a joy-killing prick—"

"—what did you just call me?"

Szayel's grin hangs suspended in midair. He gives his brother a humorous grin in an awkward attempt to recompense for his offensive remark, perhaps. The other vampire merely rolls his lazy eyes.

"What I'm saying is, we should say 'hi' to Kurosaki here." Szayel resumes, as if to raise me as an excuse to erase meaning from his earlier misdeed of calling the strongest vampire in the family a prick.

"I've given him a greeting already. Jesus, why do I always have to be stuck with you?"

"That's because we're so much alike."

"Just acknowledge the _human_ and finish off your meal." Stark's voice has grown weighty with irritation.

Szayel throws him a scarcely perceptible scowl before grudgingly returning his gaze to me.

"Hello, Kurosaki. It's a wonderful evening tonight."

His address to me, though flavorless and indicative of nothing, extols a clearing in my brain.

"W—wonderful indeed. Er, I'll go now so you can, er, finish your midnight snack there. Er, g—goodbye, Szayel-san and Stark-san."

I can feel my grip tightening around the rifle. With a final bow I click on my heels, extricating myself from dabbling with vampire affairs—

"Wait." One of them intercepts my retreat.

It's Stark. Disconcerted to the ridiculous extremities as I already am, my mind shoots above infernally chaotic at the thought of someone like him finding the necessity to detain my leave. It seems as if the night is purposely driving me insane.

Pulling to a halt, I ask, "Y—yes?"

"You look as though you're not fit for anything. We're not _monsters_." He says with such an unimpeachable regularity you'd think there's nothing more reverent than him. On the other hand, Szayel continues to prey on the fallen beast without the slightest attention to anything besides.

It truly is startling to think that any of my opinions about their ways, whether spoken aloud or confined in secrecy, should bother him as much as to get out of his way to ask me directly. As a response to this unfamiliar regard, I speak,

"I don't think of you as monsters. Never will. But on other issues, my friend, Inoue-san, could've been a part of this if I wasn't sharp enough to force her away. I'm not condemning your carelessness and your so complete an absence of regard to the protection of your family's secret. But if this is to happen more than once, I bet your secrets would be out in no time."

Stark, with terrifying speed, springs from the pit and soars a few meters in the air before landing soundlessly a few feet from me. I heard they were fast, but no one told me they could move like that... Just what the fuck happened to gravity? At any rate, this blind boldness that I have for a few minutes been trying to sustain has completely given way. Fear undermines me.

"I shouldn't define this whole affair as mere coincidence. If it were anyone besides you who had chosen to explore the uncharted wilderness on the night of our hunt, we would've scrambled about our feet to prevent discovery. But then Szayel recognized your scent and said there wasn't anything to worry about since those two brats, Grimmjow and Ulquiorra, had already told you what we were."

"But I wasn't alone. My friend could've seen it all—"

"But she didn't. You're forgetting how fast we are. Had you chosen to keep her at your side we could've, without breaking a sweat, zoomed off before she was to acquire the chance to grace herself the sight of us." He pauses, shifts his gaze to his brother, and reflects on him for awhile. In time he continues, "Mother and Father are away. Szayel finds it extremely difficult to hunt alone, not under the reason that his speed and strength are inferior but because his natural inclination to seek human blood hasn't altogether fled from him. And, yes, if I hadn't been here there'd be a dim chance he'd pine for a taste of you."

"Dim chance?"

"Let's just say he's not permitted to conduct a hunt on his own."

"Why?"

"Because he lacks self-control. Let's leave it at that."

"I—I think he's doing pretty well, seeing that he didn't even try to lay a finger on me."

"To be quite honest, you have a very distinct scent from the others. Hence you, catching us red-handed awhile ago, was a very near miss for him. And that's not mentioning he has a very special talent in determining and detecting scents. It's a major test he passed tonight."

"Er, that's good."

He gives a faint nod as some unknown glint can now be glimpsed in his eyes. It feels as though a longing in me has been gratified by the pieces of information he's relaying, and, more than anything, it soothes the activities of my hazy mind to gain his credit. In the background, the thought of Szayel ravaging on a helpless, innocent animal seems distant although continuous.

"Get going now." He dismisses, to which I give a faint murmur of assent.

I recommence my steps, feeling light and relieved. So it's like big brother is baby-sitting little brother while mom and dad are away.

...

It's been two weeks since he last spoke to me. In those weeks my world revolved around superficial human matters, except for a few transgressions when Ulquiorra would drop by my lunch table and express brief cordialities. Somehow the days go by a little slower than the ones before them and seem to be dulling to utter blandness and monotony. I seriously don't feel much disposed to admitting it, but disappointment catches up with me in these days more than they ought to. And even more unthinkable is the reason why this constant disappointment has very little to do with the repetitive cycle my pals are molding the day with.

In the same week, he would day after day just pass me by in the corridors, looking as though he was wandering vacantly with solitary limbs seeking union with something unattainable. So it dawns on me that I may never have the chance to apologize to him ever, and thus it can be said that a sudden connection between him and me was previously created of which I only became aware when it was broken.

Grimmjow Jaggerjack.

Now that an inaccessible distance is paved between us like an intangible barrier, I no longer see the point of spending effort to make eye contact with him in order to extend my apologies, if only mutually. Indeed, there's really no point in that because he's been absent for four days straight. However, his absence brings neither comfort nor relief. In fact it only serves to recommend me into a long-winding stretch of guilt. I know this is self-absorption without satisfaction, but, absurd as it sounds, there's a small possibility that I'm the damn reason why he's been cutting a lot of classes. I know it's silly. It's silly of me to dwell on this matter; what the hell would cutting classes mean to an immortal? In response to this, I find myself plunging into a huge emotional gamble by walking side by side with Ulquiorra to exit the school grounds.

"What happened to your brother?" I start.

His gait loosens by a degree. "Do you mean Grimmjow?"

"Y—yeah. He's been absent for four days, hasn't he?"

"Five days in fact."

"Oh. Is he okay?" I glance at him searchingly, hoping to glimpse a trace of what I intend to know, or some news of it.

Ulquiorra lapses to several seconds of silence.

"Are you worried about him, Kurosaki?"

"I'm just curious, no more, no less."

The sun has sunk ahead and before us lay a considerable pitch of darkness. We plow on slowly which makes me wonder if our pace is hampering him in any way.

"Grimmjow is currently recuperating from serious injuries."

I stop short on my tracks, completely deprived of the power to speak immediately. In time I manage to string a few words together,

"W—what the hell—did he get into an accident?"

"He got himself into one."

"May I know the details?"

He studies me with careful consideration, and, after what seems like an eternity, begins to narrate,

"He got into an argument with Stark and Szayel when the two arrived from a hunt two weeks ago. I have no knowledge of the particulars but it appeared that Grimmjow heard… do you know?"

"What?"

"Grimmjow is capable of hearing voices even from an expanse of great distances."

"Yeah, he told me about that." I answer gravely as my thoughts recede to one particular night of many events.

"Well, it appears that he heard something either or both said while hunting that Grimmjow didn't like. For more than a week he would quarrel and throw nasty remarks at the two in periods unending. Szayel snapped after having been verbally attacked by Grimmjow for three days. Fortunately, they somehow maintained a decent distance from one another in fear of Father's wrath and Mother's reproach. But you see, Kurosaki, one's patience can't endure something like Grimmjow's bantering for a week without rebelling and ultimately resorting to violence. Five days ago things got serious, so serious and heated that Stark had finally had enough. For him to have pushed Stark to activity might have meant he truly had gone beyond boundaries. By the time Neliel and Szayel managed to wrench them apart, Grimmjow was as good as butchered meat. Stark suffered a number of minor concussions."

My head is reeling in perpetual motion. After having received the downpour of repulsion this information brings with it, I naturally no longer have the right amount of faculties to share a comprehensible comment. Try as I might, I can't quite reconcile what could've occasioned Grimmjow the need to take on Stark singlehandedly. Certainly, I have nothing to do with the whole of it, and, partly, the idea of having my hands cleaned of the matter comforts me… maybe not. Damn it, it annoys me that there's nothing I can't be too sure of these days.

"Ulquiorra, where is Stark? I'd like to have a word with him."

He inspects me in a daze of mild incomprehension.

"He's probably dozing off his room right now and can't be disturbed by anything less than a matter of life and death. Do you need anything from him?"

"Yeah, I do. If he's not available, maybe a word with Szayel would do."

Upon hearing his youngest sibling's name, something ruthless weds itself with his eyes.

"What is this all about?"

The look he's giving me is as intense as my tone is urgent. This sort of look gives me the measure of how much caution I have to demonstrate at this moment.

"It was a Sunday morning when Szayel and Stark hit home from a hunt, wasn't it?" I ask to verify my loosely grounded suspicion.

"It most certainly was."

"Listen, Ulquiorra, I don't know how to piece the whole picture together, but perhaps I should let you know that I was out camping on the night of Stark and Szayel's hunt. Accidentally I walked in on its latter process. I didn't witness the actual hunt; just the feeding. There was nothing more to it, I assure you. They were both most pleasant that there was definitely no room for me to be threatened. If my presence there was the reason why Grimmjow went on to hurl crazy invectives at them, I should at least explain it to him. So if you don't know anything about it, perhaps I should confirm a thing or two from Szayel and Stark—"

What little color that previously shaded his face is now completely drained. Ulquiorra's huge green eyes are streaked with alarm that's verging on ferocity. In his face is a remorseless gleam of anger that is communicating itself through his silence. I wish I were seeing otherwise, but what his actions now present is that there can be no two opinions about it; he is furious.

"He—he brought _him_ with him? _Stark brought Szayel with him_?"

"Y—yes, but you see—"

"—Bloodthirsty Szayel?"

"He wasn't being so bloodthirsty—"

"Kurosaki, I never thought there would come a day when I would share Grimmjow's sentiments and follow his mindless manner of patching loose ends together. But today, with your aid, I realized he was not without a ground when he called Szayel and Stark a pair of blithering imbeciles."

I swallow the lump in my throat, fully aware that I have recently been crowned the greatest arbiter of shit.

"Er, Ulquiorra, I'll just explain the matter to Grimmjow, er, because, as I have mentioned, Szayel and Stark were being most—"

"—those two blithering imbeciles have imperiled your safety in full knowledge that our natural inclination to desire human blood is something we have for centuries been condemning and trying to rectify. They shall not go _unpunished_."

**TBC**

**A/N: I don't really know how to write Stark, but I like the dude a LOT. That is, after having read Bleach chapter 339. And pardon me for the errors.**


	13. Thirst

**Chapter XIII: Thirst**

Basically, it's like having my soul stupefied into this cold, narrow prison for twenty-five years and afterwards chucking it out right into the fire without much asking for permission. Nah, that's a little exaggerated. But, really now, the thought itself is damn crazy. Like, I'm staring at Ulquiorra right now. Like, so deep and intense is my gaze that one can just accuse me of gaping at the dishy bastard for obvious reasons such as that I wanna drink in his handsomeness.

"Hey, Ulquiorra, I put myself into their path. It wasn't like they were hunting for humans, was it?"

Because he's walking too fast and is perhaps forgetting a little something like he's a fucking vampire whose natural speed is twice that of my fastest, I go about skipping my steps. Luckily, though not entirely timely, he pulls to a halt to acknowledge me.

"Kurosaki, I suggest you take your route _home_. It's late, and the night reeks of danger. Here we must part. Goodnight."

"…"

The. Nerve. Of. The. Fucking. Bastard. The imbecility of his comment/message/warning/whateverthefuckyoumightcalli t is coming on to me like an unforeseen insult from the vilest, most brainless twit in the world who has not the slightest merit to render him entitled to any comment. In the first place, no one gets to send me home unless you want your night to end up a huge bore. Second, well, it's pretty much obvious: His name is Ulquiorra Scheiffer, the very same bastard who, several days ago, told me a little something that was very similar to "I fucking need you." You get the damn picture? If anyone gets to ask me to go away, it wouldn't be him of all fucking pricks! Well, fuck this. If he has the damn guts to dismiss me, reject my company, or say 'no' to my coming with him, man, he should better do a little reevaluation, fucking take back what he has said, and rearrange the fucking mess he likes to call his life.

"Can't you brave the road alone? Just say the word and I'll drop you at your doorstep." He tells me.

I have an inflated sense of his courteousness but, despite that, I still do think it doesn't stop him from being a bastard. I suppose I can pay later for all the abominations coming out my mouth, so,

"I'm coming with you."

"What?"

"I said I'm coming with you. I don't wanna go home; it would just bore me to death."

Oh, a thousand curses! Nothing left in me to venerate, much to pity but more to despise!

He's looking at me as though the most magnificent words have sprouted from my mouth. This only thrives for a second. In the next moment I hear his solemn voice,

"I want to be with you, too. But I have a very important business with Stark and Szayel tonight. You should know that because it concerns you."

This is the second time in the last five minutes that he has repelled me. What the fuck! I can't go on horsing around like this for a second more because if this goes on it wouldn't be any different from telling him I desire him, which is of course very far short of the truth. _Just so you know_.

"That can wait, can't it? Don't you live in the same house with them? Come on. It's a very, er, nice evening; you don't wanna squander it by arguing with your brothers."

I can't take this anymore. One more of this sort of shit and, man, I'll be packing myself to the morgue. Believe me, there's an entirely different reason than the obvious (but false) one for my asking him to stay.

"I'm so sorry, but it can't wait."

"I'm sure it can."

"It can't. I'm sorry."

"Well, fuck this, Ulquiorra, I'm cutting the bull: you wanna argue with Stark and Szayel and take them on two-on-one? Well then, fine, fucking fine, go ahead and _die_."

Shit. Did the world get stripped of all reason just in time to humiliate me in front of a vampire? I want to scamper away or disappear like smoke. But it's too late to make amends for anything because he heard it all, and, yeah, I'm a moron. So now I have to suffer the great aftermath of my imbecility by watching him advance on me with a very pleased air about him.

"Don't worry. I'm not planning on entering into a showdown against them."

"But it might lead to that! Look at what happened to Grimmjow."

"If it comes to that, I wouldn't put myself in the same category with Grimmjow; I'm pretty strong and am wiser."

"Not strong enough for the combined force of Szayel and Stark"

"I agree. But you're jumping into conclusions here. I just want a word with them. It's that simple. Besides, Szayel I can handle, and as for Stark, I'm not stupid enough to take on him."

The mention of his brother's name, for some god-forsaken reason, instantly breezes me into a gulf of horror. He's monstrously strong. Maybe Ulquiorra is nearly as strong and is likely to stand a chance against Stark if ever… what the fuck is happening to me? I keep imagining him in a helpless, bloody, mutilated state which at all events should not bother me, especially if he brought it upon himself. Like, why should I give a damn hoot? He can just wrestle Stark for all I fucking care—

"Just save that shit for tomorrow and stay with me tonight."

Okay, that fucking does it; myself is giving me the fucking creeps. I'm gonna effing pretend that the last five seconds and everything that has a shit to do with it did NOT happen. I didn't say that nor did he hear anything. Yeah, we can agree on that, so why don't we just get on with our lives and be merry like the fucking sun—

"Kurosaki, are you feeling well?"

I was afraid he was gonna ask some shit of that sort. Oh well, it could've been worse. So now he's calculating my actions with the most avid attention, as if I were suffering from a gorgeous delirium.

"I'm feeling capital. So what do you say?"

I can just melt in his gaze, can't I? Why does he have to stare, man, with those cocky, penetrating, huge eyes which seem to recognize no retreat?

"I—I'll stay with you, if you ask me to."

I am in dire need of a savior. I have just placed myself in the most ruinous situation imaginable. I have just asked a vampire to stay with me for awhile, and he did not accept my offer right away. Oh, the insult. The blasphemy. The personal degradation. Blast me.

...

We're strolling the night away on this dimly-lit street with flickering lights on it which only serve the purpose of making me feel drearier with every step. I start,

"Listen, Ulquiorra. I have to make one thing straight here: I'm not doing this to be near you or anything along that line. I just don't want you—"

"—in harm's way?" He finishes the sentence for me, eagerly.

"Y-yeah. Something like that."

"Aren't they almost the same?"

I try to maintain my composure as much as I can afford.

"No, they're not. In fact they're as different as two poles. The reason why I'm doing this is because I don't wanna harbor responsibilities for your getting your ass kicked by your brother. You wanna talk to Stark and Szayel for my sake, right? Well, I don't want any of that. Just leave me out of your business or, better yet, don't make me the reason for it. I hate being entangled into this immense web of vampire affairs simply because it makes me so much of a damn damsel in distress, which, I assure you, is the last thing I'd dream myself to be."

It appears that my words have not tendered in him my desired effect. I mean, I can return his smile for humor's sake, but not at a time like this.

"You're funny. No worries. I'll stay out of harm's way, if only to please you."

He casts me a quick sideway glance which makes the faint grin in his lips stand out less furtively. I study him with the best intentions of exhibiting minimal interest only to fail miserably. It strikes me that his eyes are more vibrantly green than I remember them to be. And, of course, he seems to be enjoying this very much.

"Why?" the word escapes my mouth, unbidden.

"Why what?"

"Why is there so little trust between you and your siblings? I'm not qualified to give a sound observation about your brothers, but if there was this one tiny possibility that they intended to kill me—"

"—do you know how we hunt, Kurosaki?"

I cut my pace.

"No. Show me, maybe?" I ask.

He cuts his pace just as I have done. To my surprise he glances at me searchingly and begins to chuckle a mirthless, almost scornful laugh.

"Show you? How do you expect me to do that?"

"How do you hunt? And what's so damn funny?"

Fists in pockets, he swivels around. The sight immediately permits only one thought: If perfection had been attainable on Earth it could very much be represented by him. It might, indeed it must be, the effect of the orange glare of the streetlamp before us that's giving him what appears like the classical brilliance of candlelight.

He darts slowly towards me, his feet making silent clatters against the asphalt. Suddenly the wind ceases its onslaught against my cheeks. Looking at him now, at his serene elegance, is like peeking into a hole which has no pit. It doesn't help that the silence now looms so large in volume that it seems to encourage the chills coursing through us. He approaches, his presence growing as vast and august as a natural phenomenon.

"You're very naïve." He draws back a clump of my bangs before proceeding to brush my cheek with the back of his palm. He continues, "When we hunt, the beast in us unleashes. When we hunt, our senses double up to tenfold their usual amount and we gain animal instincts. But you see, Kurosaki, these conveniences that assist our feast disrupt a balance in our system. So in return, while hunting, we lose half our wits. Now you understand why it enraged me to learn of the danger to which Stark and Szayel exposed you."

The mists up there, with its velvety weight, render the surroundings unclear, such as that everything is seen but nothing is seen distinctly. It must have something to do with the way his fingers are caressing my jaw line. But he went on, tilting his head askance to mine, making my composure irrevocably and indissolubly his own.

"Did you just say 'beast'?"

"Kurosaki, darkness is where we _belong_. We may appear to you as heroes or martyrs who painstakingly strive to divide ourselves from the evil in us. But, at the end of the day, we trace our routes back to what we are. We are cursed, tormented, and base creatures. We're not like the rubbish you encounter in fiction novels that live in a perfect world where everything gets tied up in the end, living up to the concept of the good always overcoming evil. Our nature is inclined to ruthlessness, for, if not, why is human blood our primary source of sustenance? These abilities which mount us above all creatures—aren't they instruments of murder rather than blessings? Why is there an insatiable empty hole in our souls?"

"J—just where are you getting at? If you want me to stay away from you, why can't you just be fucking blunt and tell me to scram?"

My temples are stoking up heat faster than a damn oven can, man. Who the fuck does he think he is? If he isn't aware of it yet, perhaps there's a good point in alerting him of the damn truth here; that I would've been living a less troublesome life devoid of vampires and shit of that sort if he hadn't come along and enrolled into the same high school. Duh. What a fucktard. Really, my anger is skirting disaster, or hell, for that matter. I slap his hand away from my face. He stuffs it back into his pocket before locking his gaze elsewhere. Without looking at me, he speaks,

"I'm saying we are highly capable of cutting out the lives of the beings around us. That includes you, and I can't—there's no way I can—_I can't afford that_. Not for anything in the world. I must take every measure necessary to _protect_ you. Please understand."

I have, for the moment, to content myself with silence or acquit myself with it. He's making a drama of it all, which pretty much contradicts what he has earlier told me, that his family has resigned from touching humans. All I can pull is to release a bitter, humorless laugh. Sounding thoroughly sarcastic, I dredge on,

"Are you that much dangerous? If so, then why did you choose to settle in a place like this where the population is thick? Why not choose Antarctica or the damn moon if you sincerely intend to keep your fangs off murdering humans?"

He sighs, "Sousuke is bound to this place. There is a story, a valuable piece of his life, that dwells forever in this place, never to depart. It's not my story to tell, though. And Father is the one who keeps us intact. Without him, we'd be as good as planks of aimless driftwood in an ocean endless and boundless."

"That's crap. That's—"

"—you know it's not. Listen, I'm a different case, and maybe Grimmjow too. Delectable as you are, there's an entirely valid reason why we can't lay a finger on you. As for my other siblings, I cannot guarantee the same thing. Szayel—he hasn't completely conquered his innate tendencies to pine for humans. Neliel, though completely transformed, cannot be considered as a wholly different being from what she once was. She used to be a very voracious eater. Sousuke rehabilitated her and made her the Neliel we know now. Only that, sometimes we feel that there is a huge, massive space in her mind where her forgotten memories are reserved. As for Stark, we can't just overlook his ridiculous strength, towards which many cruel temptations are gravitating. Yes, it's true that much of his conformation to our 'house rules' owe a lot to his passiveness, his unerring inactiveness, but I must inform you that he is thoroughly unversed in humanism. He doesn't touch humans simply because he would have to answer to Father if he did, which would translate to many pain in the ass, as he calls it."

I'm staring at him absently, as if trying to read imprinted messages that have left no hint as to their meaning. Most conveniently my voice finds its way out my throat,

"W—why should you and Grimmjow be any different? Why are you so damn sure I have to be protected from the likes of you or, in a more specific sense, why should you be the one to protect me?"

He consumes a criminally long time to finish his unreadable ruminations, while my chest heaves a series of violent pulsations beneath my shirt. His closeness keeps me anchored and at the same time it makes fragments of my mind stream past me to lapse into the unknown and beyond. The silence continues to lay its weight on us until finally he makes up his mind to relieve us of its burden,

"Only this: Your scent is something that could tempt a vampire from over mountains and seas. It can inspire a thirst merciless and lingering. And know this: no fear can stand up to hunger; no patience can wear it out; no amount of prohibition can char it out of existence; disgust does not exist where hunger is; no belief can ignore it; principles don't mean much beside it. Only _love_ conquers it. That's what separates me from all the rest… it's hard to admit, but maybe the same applies to Grimmjow."

**TBC**

**A/N: This must've bored you to death. I'm sorry but I really had to squeeze it (the love confession shit) somewhere. Also, I'm disowning a few lines from the last paragraph; got them from the novel Heart of Darkness by supergenius Joseph Condrad. Pardon me for the errors.**


	14. This Old House

**Chapter XIV: This Old House**

I haven't, for the love of god, been able to doze a fucking wink for the last three nights. The reason, I think, can be traced back from what occurred exactly four days ago. It was around this time of the late afternoon when Ulqui—

Damn that name. Damn his face when he said that which is as abominable as a weapon of mass destruction, and damn everything he said. Damn him. The problem is, all this is giving me more distress than a damn calamity would. The problem is, all about him is an acute incongruity against every damn principle my world is enshrined in. The fucking problem is, _the bastard is in love with me_.

I should've seen it coming from the start, should've given myself enough warning to cleanse myself of this.

So what happened exactly four days ago was this:

I was walking on this featureless street late on a weekday when the sun had taken complete descent. The environment was as serene as a background that was lending itself to allusions of European scenes with all its greenery and its coldness. It was such a peaceful stroll divested of all ugliness; except for the TRUTH. The fucking truth was, Ulquiorra Scheiffer was taking mute strides beside me and was kind enough to engage me into something for which I'd kill to have it eradicated from my memory. So, he was telling this shitty story about thirst and its effects on a vampire, which, by the way, is what he is. And then out of nowhere he went like,

"The only thing that's keeping me from devouring you is love."

He was composed as hell when he said it, man, which, out of respect, pledged me to practice the same behavior. After all, it wouldn't kill to stay fucking civil for a few minutes. However, it's just fool's errand to give any form of assertion to that, and even more of a foolery is to hand out affirmation. What I did was, I let my jaw hang for several seconds and made an idiot out of myself by staring blankly at him. So it took me about five minutes to restore full consciousness that by the time I had gathered enough nerves to say a shit my mouth was already throbbing for staying open for far too long.

"Gimme a damn break. In any case, let's change the subject. Can we do that?"

I was grinning so lamely that I could have been easily taken for a retard. But I could forget about being mistaken for a retard because no sooner than I finished talking did he reach out for my shoulders with both his pale hands. I was cocksure terror was striking me to the point of turning blue but I didn't have time to muse about being horrified, did I? That's because I didn't have time for anything else, too. It's pretty much hard to remember how the preceding and succeeding events took place; I'm only sure of one thing. It's that he had me in a tight embrace against my will.

"Promise me you won't put yourself in danger again."

In retrospect, I was in pretty much the same amount of danger at that time as I would be if I had wedged myself between a T-rex and Yeti. I was in danger of losing my dearly beloved sanity. Luckily, sarcasm aside, my dearly beloved sanity chose the most perfect time to exercise its loyalty to me. I found myself prying my strength-deprived body from him.

"I'm fine. I'm in danger of nothing. But I'll be dead before I find myself in your arms again!"

There was a very profound appalled look in his face, as if he had just heard the most repulsive words ever to escape human lips, as if only a monster could've considered my statement as something to be acted upon.

"Kurosaki, I—I apologize." His sentence sounded as though it was without a sequel. He stuffed his fists back into his pockets before letting his eyes wander at his side listlessly. There was no heavy discomposure in his actions, yet it had everything which _demanded_ it. He was trembling inside, or so it seemed. I couldn't get myself to utter another phrase so, perhaps reading me, he decided to save me the trouble, "I—I love you. It's true. Goodbye. Forgive me."

That blew everything out of proportion. Before, he had not dropped any hint of the contrary, which would've given me the prerequisites for hearing the exact words, but this night proved to be as difficult as hearing the confession had it come without a prelude. But, then again, truth is something which contradicts itself most of the time.

But more importantly, he had fled. He had taken his flight without giving me the chance to spend what remained of my distaste for what had been said, leaving me alone in the dark.

...

If he had been less direct in handling it he could've spared me one sleepless night out of three. We have been exchanging very little glances over the next three days. But in those days, every time I would go home from school with Rukia by my side, I was almost always certain that an extra set of feet with extra-light steps were trailing ours. Maybe he's living up to his claim of not being capable of staying away from me.

Grimmjow resumed attending his classes two days ago, the same day Ulquiorra ceased to attend his.

"You're very quiet today, Kurosaki-kun." Inoue tells me. We're in this after-school sort of a date (for lack of better things to do) which merely comprises a box of pizza, a liter of Coke, and sitting on the lawn the football field provides.

"You think so? Do you always notice things up to the minutest detail? I'm fine, I assure you." I tell her. The sky is seared with orange streaks of cloud, reminding me of the beauty a certain scenery possesses. I smile at her which makes her slightly taken aback.

"I wish you're okay." She mutters.

We remain silent for minutes, several of it in fact. I wonder if it's wrong to be here, if it's appropriate for this sort of relaxation to be carried on when there's so much I owe to two people. I suppose musing over it wouldn't deliver me closer to answers,

"Inoue-san, tell me, if you had occasioned someone pain, even in knowing you stood by what you thought was correct and had been thoroughly honest with yourself, would you still be obligated to apologize insofar as morality—no, make that propriety— is concerned?"

"That's a difficult one. I—I think that if you meant to have no holds barred it would be okay to say what you really meant. But if it amounted to hurting someone's feelings, there would be no reason in the world to give you the license to put your apology on hold."

"I should apologize?" The thought itself bewilders me.

"By all means, yes."

I should've kept my trap shut. For one thing, Inoue is probably the most good-natured person I've met, and there's no disguising the fact that we differ in countless terms; in opinions, particularly. I must be out of my mind.

...

Three fucking knocks should do it. If not, then, I'll try my luck some other time. I'm, by the way, probing deep breaths from the depths of my lungs like a moron trying out for Jeopardy. To carry on, I'm as good as walking into a dragon's mouth–not much subtlety remains to entitle me with 'dragon's lair'. Like, in the past, people had called me insane and, half of the time, I deserved being named as such. But the reasons for which were never anything as blatant as knocking on the front door of a family of vampires. That, be informed, is exactly what I'm doing now.

_Tap, tap, tap _

No answer. Hesitation compounds. I knock harder. Still no answer. I check out my watch. The sun is about all ready to pack at this hour. I'll give it another shot and will have to admit that three knocks aren't gonna wrap things up.

_Tap—_

I hear an engine roar behind me. I spin around just in time to see a black suburban pull over the front lawn. Through the windshield, Dr. Aizen is performing the last procedures of securing his vehicle on the driveway. Mrs. Aizen, Halibel-san, alights from the passenger seat with a warm smile channeling towards me. Out of her knowledge, her graceful manners are sending me signals of the elaborate futility of my situation.

"Good evening, Kurosaki-kun. How nice of you to drop by." She tells me, her voice deep and suffused with wonder. Dr. Aizen pulls away from the driver's seat, nods amicably at me, and goes to fetch something from the backseat.

"Er, good evening, ma'am. I was just wondering if I—"

Dr. Aizen has pried the backseat door open to reveal Grimmjow. Seeming insensible to what I was previously saying, my mouth fails me. Grimmjow is looking paler than usual, and, as he clasps his father's arm to help himself to his feet, our gazes meet.

"What's he doing here?" He asks, his eyes never leaving mine.

Mrs. Aizen swivels her head to his son with a firmness that could've sent me cowering behind a chair had her reproach been directed to me.

I harness time to recollect myself before I explain, "I came to see you, Grimmjow. But if this isn't a very convenient time for you I'll save it for later."

Dr. Aizen walks ahead to join Halibel. Together they proceed to the entry porch, looking as though they're obliged to award me and his son privacy, which I don't think I'll be needing any more than I want it. The couple pulls to a halt upon reaching me,

"You may come in. Scheiffer is sleeping but Neliel is inside; she'll be glad to accommodate you. Please excuse Grimmjow's conduct here; he's in medication. The treatment doesn't quite agree with his taste. That should explain the boorish conduct." Dr. Aizen explains with as much graveness in his voice as a merry news would have.

I shift my gaze to their son. It's only now, when it has been made clear, that it occurs to me that he's been lacking quite an amount of his usual energy for the last two days at school.

"Oh. I'm good to go. Good evening to you, Dr. Aizen, Mrs. Aizen. And you too, Grimmjow."

"Good evening." Both say, and they enter their house.

Grimmjow remains rooted to where he is. I give him a cordial salute before brushing past him wordlessly. With a clear intent to make my exit hasty so as not to give the moment a chance to harden and eventually turn into something else, I split. Unfortunately, no matter how quick my wits are and how sharp my instincts are, I can't outdo a vampire, at least in terms of speed. I've only scurried over a few yards from their block, and already he's sallying forth towards me.

"Are you sure it's me for whom you've come?" He asks with neither derision nor glee in his countenance.

"I think so." I answer, my legs ceasing its movements.

"That's strange. Last time I checked you'd rather bury yourself in a shit-pile of math problems than spend time with me."

"Strange indeed."

His eyebrows travel higher up his forehead, giving his skeptic glare a more solid completion.

"You really have some nerves, Kurosaki." He says warningly, with detestation.

"I'm very well aware of that."

"It will cost you blood if you insist on behaving like this. At any rate, my offer is still up for grabs. You wanna come see my room or not?" He says it as though he's making an offer more to satisfy a request than to please himself, for, as he steps into the light that falls on the ground, not a trace of malice or any indecent longing can be glimpsed in him.

"That was my intention of coming here, I believe."

...

His room is devoid of character. It has everything one might expect from someone who has long ago resigned from engaging into an earthly living. It's not entirely lacking in taste, but, certainly, this can't be _his_ taste. The bed, for starters, whose existence is devoted to expressing a normal domestic space, is in the middle of the otherwise empty room.

"What do you do for entertainment? Don't you watch the television or something?" I inquire, my eyes still wandering around the chamber, searching for something that perhaps doesn't exist.

He approaches his bed, cocks one of his feet against the foot of it, and kicks the whole thing from him. The bed barrels away from him to meet the end of its journey as it hits the western wall of his room. Brute strength is what I might have called it.

"We keep a television in the family hall. There's a Playstation 3 in there too. Wanna play?" He asks.

"Maybe later. Are human activities too bland for you?"

"On the contrary, these technological inventions are like your primary source of merit."

"I should agree with you on that one."

He allows his weight to fall on his bed and props his hands against the mattress, as if to observe me through and through.

"Come here." he gestures at me.

My limbs, as if worked by a single string, slowly peg their way to where he is. I pause two feet away from him and stuff my fists in my pockets.

"Do you sleep here?" I ask.

"No."

"Why?"

"It's too damn sunny."

"Where do you sleep?"

"Upstairs in the attic, where everyone sleeps."

"Oh. Room-sharing?"

"We sleep in coffins."

"Yeah…"

"You don't believe me?"

"It sounds too comical."

He scowls. "Tell me, why did you come here?"

"I might have offended you—last time we talked. I guess you're entitled to my apology." It may not have sounded so much as condescension but it _has_ to serve as a remedy. Come on, man, he can't expect me to go down on my knees and clinch my palms together with puppy eyes and puckered lips!

He scratches the back of his head, perhaps to show how disinclined he is to accept my unceremonious apology. Maybe he should reconsider a few things here; that I actually knocked on his fucking front door.

"Fine. Is that all?"

"That just about sums it up. You can kick me out anytime now."

The truth is, my mind is teeming with questions that could have filled an entire notepad. I want to know what sort of medication he's undertaking, if he has tidied things up with Stark and Szayel, and—

"You really are an _indifferent fuck_, aren't you?"

A sudden blaze of anger smites his face ferocious and unsparing. I'm not just about to let it slip, though, especially when calling me an indifferent fuck is involved.

"That's right. Go on and call me names. That would just unburden me of more guilt than I'm currently harboring. Goodnight, Grimmjow, and kindly stuff yourself in your fucking coffin."

I turn to my heels, my feet producing the heaviest treads I've pulled, what with my anger shooting through the damn ceiling. I shouldn't have come here. Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever grow wise enough to recognize shit before I break my fucking shins into it. But before I conclude this thought, I realize that my current suffering will not come to an end by simply storming the hell out of here. Being the unfortunate prick that I am, he dashes in front of me in such a speed I once witnessed from watching Moto GP. He is blocking my exit.

He grabs my shoulders with both his hands with so merciless a firmness I'm afraid my shoulder blades are being crushed. Before I manage to yell my lungs out and spit in his face, I land on something soft, his bed—with him on all fours on top of me. Our faces are like four inches apart, man, which I wouldn't have minded half as much if he WERE smiling evilly. Instead, he is stiff with rage, with teeth so tightly clenched and mouth so widely open I can see his fangs. Real fangs.

"Why, you gonna kill me, Grimmjow? Go on, blood-sucking fucktard, it's not like I can fucking help it. I'm fucking yours." I hiss as my insides make their mad plunges against fate. I'm heaving heavy pants which are accompanied by the incessant escape of beads of sweat from my temples. And these involuntary anatomic activities are all borne out of anger rather than fear.

He doesn't speak, instead he lifts a hand to graze on my neck as if to seize it and crush it.

But no violent strangling ensues. No struggle issues from me. No blood reaches his lips. No pain ensnares my flesh. No other curse leaves my mouth. I feel his lips brush against my chest, the moisture of his mouth latching onto my skin. His hands are groping hungrily for my thighs, and his uncouth movements are ridding me of further reaction. Truly, he's not called a beast for nothing.

"Kurosaki." He whispers crudely through gritted teeth, as if holding a great deal back.

Maybe I'm overcome with his strength, or maybe too petrified or too infuriated to make a move. Whichever the case is, I'm finding his lips against mine extremely hard to resist.

**TBC**

**A/N: Thanks for reading and pardon me for the errors  
**


	15. Stark

**Chapter XV: Stark**

It's like a realization about yourself that comes too late. For the last thirty seconds everything has felt like a separate reality; not exactly like a fiction but something else, something larger. I can feel his palms digging hungrily against my skin. I can hear my breath clamoring for more air. I can smell his hair, which reeks of a very masculine scent. I can taste his mouth, which lacks any trace of his previous meal, whatever it was, covetously exploring mine. I can see the uselessness of rebelling against this. I close my eyes.

What's surprising is, I can end this with one honest movement. One gentle push is all it takes to destroy the complacency that he now entertains in feeling so united with me. The twist lies in the fact that I don't have the courage nor the conviction to do it. Here in the night whose biggest surprise is that it's happening, the identity I have so long sustained crumbles. So I, so directly confronted by helplessness and defeat, can only wait for him to finish, to finally abort the slow movements of his tongue in my mouth, to withdraw his hands from my chest, waist, and every part of me, to finish what seems to have no end.

He stops.

"You don't want this." He says under his breath. I couldn't have suspected anything else with the way he's said it. There's too much placidity in his manner of speaking and too little of the insolence he so often demonstrates. His face is too close to mine that it seems impossible for a sound to occupy what little space there is in between. His chest is lagged over mine, his weight light, and his skin cold as steel. In all, I can just easily push him away and make him realize his trespasses. Despite this, inexplicably, there's not much anger in me for that.

"I don't. Never will." I hear myself say.

He closes his eyes again, perhaps slipping into a fathomless darkness to seek repose. I watch him, feeling nothing and wanting nothing to ensue.

"I'll take you home." He declares, lifting his weight from me. Without batting an eye on me, he spreads out an arm to help me up. I ignore him and carry myself up from the bed, something which I could've done easily on any event, even under circumstances where an all-powerful vampire was vilolating me.

"No, thanks."

He squints at the coldness of my response. And what the hell is he expecting anyway?

"Be reasonable. Your house is miles off and you ain't got a damn ride with you—"

"—I don't want you going near me again." My mouth says faster than I can think better of it. And as if recovering from this sudden outburst, I entail, "At least for tonight."

As if gripped by his better impulses, he gives a low sigh, "Alright. I'll ask Sousuke to drive you home—"

"—that, of course, won't be necessary. I can manage my way home."

"Ichigo, stop it with trying to be a cold jerk, for Pete's sake. Just let me take you—"

"—cut it with your fucking hypocrisy, Grimmjow." I snarl. The leanness of his face disappears for an instant. I continue, "I am considering our accounts settled here. I have offended you, and then you called me an indifferent fuck, which, in all aspects, I mostly deserved. Furthermore, you have done something abhorrent towards me. So, as far as things are going, we're equal. I'm off."

I stalk off, to which he calls out,

"Wait a damn second—"

"—it's over, dammit. Just let me go home without having to wrestle myself from you. Can you do that?"

He becomes furious. It then occurs to me that he's of a creature I have never known before. But for the moment, it's taking him a long damn while to finally subdue.

"Just fucking listen to me. Szayel is in this room, which is only a floor above this one. With all your emotions being flung around here, he probably can smell every particle your flesh is giving off. And if I let you off here alone to tread the streets out there, who knows? Wait here. If you don't want me I'll fetch someone to drive you home."

In a swift movement he exits the room. The warning he extended earlier has failed to convey any sense of threat in me. All I'm consciously anxious about is to get away from here by the first sudden means available. But, at length, the door swings open. Stark and Grimmjow are in the doorway.

Stark, half a head taller than Grimmjow, is scratching his unkempt hair.

"What am I doing here again, Jack?"

"You're going to drive this boy to his house." Grimmjow sticks his thumb to my direction.

The answer startles me. Of all fucking creatures in the house, he has chosen the most intimidating one to do him a damn favor, whose expense belongs to none other than me.

Without a second of thought, I protest, "Wait a damn second, Grimmjow. I didn't ask for this shit. I told you I could make do with myself. I'm not a retard and I have two legs, for crying out loud—"

"—is that all?" With so complete an absence of regard to me, Stark asks his brother in a most disinterested fashion.

Grimmjow stares at him in a calculating glance,

"Yes. And there's one other thing."

"What is it?"

"You touch him, you _die_."

A long train of glaring ensues which only ceases when the taller vampire cracks up.

"Piece of cake."

"Get going, then." Grimmjow wraps up the exchanges by folding his arms across his chest to watch his brother do what he's set out to do.

Stark motions at me, to which I stand up, with my reluctance dissolving upon his approach. Slowly, I leave the room without as much as looking back. In a moment, I'm trailing Stark's back down the flight of stairs. He rummages his side pocket to produce a key.

Once inside Dr. Aizen's car, he points to the seatbelt at my side before fastening his. I cast a last look at the house to find Grimmjow's silhouette against the house's entry. Stark shifts the engine to first gear, and after awhile the car is hitting the road.

...

He drives slowly, only making slight movements in switching gears and momentarily glancing at the side and rearview mirrors. Mr. Brightside is playing on the stereo. I start,

"I meant to go by myself. Your brother shouldn't have insisted, nor should you have bothered."

He removes his gaze from the road and rounded it on me as if I've said something so wide off the mark,

"No trouble at all. Actually, this is a small price to pay for what I did to him."

I don't understand. At first, that is. And then gradually my intelligence descends on me to take hold of what Ulquiorra told me a few nights ago.

"Oh. I'd have thought you weren't on speaking terms."

"We're not. Except when he has favors to ask, favors he deserves and I ought to undertake for compensation." He says, a scowl distorting his face.

"Oh. And driving me home is one of these favors, I suppose."

"And polishing his damn coffin every night shiny clean is another."

That's pretty hard to imagine.

"Was he so badly hurt?" I ask out of curiosity, not of concern, my mind so far away from taking into account that this person who's with me tonight is the very same one who, days ago, almost ripped his brother limb from limb.

"No human could have survived it. Jack's strong; you're in safe hands with him." He says, making it sound like he has no involvement in the matter in whatever degree.

"What if it had gone out of hand? If you had killed him, what would you have done?"

"Hmm. I don't know. But I do know Sousuke would kill me in return."

I peruse him from the corners of my eyes. He strikes me as a majestic being seated on a high throne, and, surely, idle chat will have no profit for him. Nonetheless, I comment,

"Killing. It's very easy for your lot when I for one can't even imagine how it's done."

"I barely remember how it's done."

He must be lying.

"Really? How long has it been since your last kill?"

He sighs, sticks one elbow to the window, and rubs his forehead, "Jack didn't tell me you were such a mighty chatterbox."

"Consider it one of Grimmjow's favors for you to satisfy my curiosity."

"Wow. You're really something. Well, how long has it been? Two decades, I reckon."

"Oh. That's a long while."

"Moron."

"What?" I ask, mildly offended, and maybe dumbfounded, with a sudden change of volume.

"_Not_ you. Look." He tilts his head towards my side of the window.

"What's that?"

"Jack. He's following us. That git sure doesn't trust me." He shakes his head disdainfully, but with fascination.

"Are you sure?" I ask dubiously.

"Damn sure. In any case, what's goin' on between you two? I thought he was too worn out to drive, and then all of a sudden he comes speeding after us on the highway. Wow, he's nuts over you. Either that or he's trying to annoy me."

I roll my eyes. "Nothing. I just paid him a visit. Maybe he's just trying to pull your leg or something."

"Oh. I was quite sure you two argued or something, that's why he couldn't drive you home and had to ask me instead."

That hit home, alright. "No—nothing like that."

Silence renews as soon as the matter is settled. Or so I thought. Stark's lips are beginning to conjure what appears to be a mischievous grin, looking very much apart from a creature that can obliterate an entire town with no more than the wish to witness suffering.

"I'm seldom interested in my siblings' affairs, but…" he pauses, rubs his chin, and continues, without dispelling his amusement, which could've permitted a straighter delivery of his comment, "…is Jack good in _bed_? Or is he just all talk?"

There's really something ironic about how these vampires' minds work. True, maybe it's hard to counter retardation even at this age where medical breakthroughs are emerging in such profusion like pop stars. Even so, I would've expected age and experience would not adhere to that protocol. This dude, tall, ancient, beautiful, majestic, wise, and powerful, is acting no better than a moron trying to be comical for ungodly reasons. Yeah, it's undoubtedly stupid for a mortal to ask questions of that type, but for a vampire? It would be criminal. He must be centuries old, man!

"How the hell would I know?" I spit out.

With eyebrows raised, he turns to me "What? You haven't done _it_ yet? Isn't he supposed to be in love with you?"

I wish he could drive faster, as this is excruciating in its lightest sense. Where could he have gotten that damn notion, for fuck's sake?

"Obsessed, more like. But more importantly, Stark-san, I don't have that sort of relationship with your brother. I mean, it even amazes me that you've looked at things in that perspective."

Pensively, he removes his gaze from me. "It amazes me that with the way he's pursuing you, you still haven't snapped one bit. So, then, Scheiffer is the reason, isn't he?"

If good fortune had not occasioned me with a decent amount of wits I would've poked the daylights out his eyes. Just what sort of crazy questions are these anyway?

"What's Ulquiorra got to do with this?"

"What, you ask? Aren't you two together or something?"

Obscene. Grotesque, even. Apart from it all, why does he have to drive so slowly?

"Can't you go a little faster?"

"This is fast, you know."

"No it isn't. Look at the damn speedometer." I point out the circular device on the dashboard, barely containing my irritation, "We're going at 40kph, and there's not a damn vehicle against the flow or behind us."

"That's fast enough for me. Going back to the subject, Scheiffer is—"

"—wait a damn second, Stark; I ain't dating any of the two, get it? Why would something like that be likely to happen?"

"Why? We're immortals, the most magnificent beings ever to walk the Earth, and upon our shoulders are the loveliest heads you can imagine. Or so they say. Not that I give a damn, but why shouldn't you be in love with Jack?"

Something's a bit off here. Though I scarcely know a thing about Stark, the small fragment of his person that clings to my mind does not quite fall in place with what he's showing now. Fishy this conversation is.

"What's this, did Grimmjow ask you to investigate to get shit from me? Is this part of your contract with him? If that's so, maybe you can tell him to lay the shit off me and stop bugging me crazy."

He shakes his head ruefully with a tired resignation before submitting to my accusation, "You got me. Man, I don't know how long I have to stick with this punishment and do his stupid biddings."

"Why did you even have to beat him up in the first place?" I ask, mightily annoyed, putting him to blame for the stupid turn of the topic of conversation.

"I believe _you_ were the reason for his behavior, which was the reason why I beat the crap out of the bastard. So if I trace back the origin of my sufferings—my conforming to whatever he asks of me—I'll arrive at something very much like _'it's your entire fault.'_" He finishes, with an index finger pointed at my chest.

Wow. How wonderful a conclusion.

"Wait a damn second—I didn't ask for this. It's not my problem if your brothers' minds are twisted like—"

"—and the best part is, Scheiffer is reenacting the scene again. Only that this time he's the damn accuser instead of Jack and I'm still the damn villain. Do you not see what these morons are putting me through because of you?"

This time I'm really riled up.

"ME? Tell ya what: If they could just leave me alone, man, I swear I'd give you all the slacking you need—"

"—relax. I'm not asking you to do a thing." He says with a voice so lacking in aggression even after my heated reply. On a side note, his calmness is infectious, almost intoxicating, and before I get lost he continues "Oh, this is your street, right?"

Lapsing from an unpleasant daze, I look through the windshield to be greeted by the familiar pavement, along which my house stands. Stark pulls over as a great feeling of relief wafts in me. I hastily jostle out the car.

"Thank you, Stark, and goodnight."

"Yeah."

I'm about to slam the door shut when my insistent curiosity restores its place in my mind. I ask, "I just wanna know: they say you're the strongest in the family, then why is Aizen Sousuke your leader and not you?"

That registers a whole damn lot of perplexity, mixed with astonishment, in his face. As such, he gazes at me for the longest time, as if our moment here has still some years of its course to go on. He answers,

"I'm not sure if I'm allowed to blurt out this sort of things to you, but if this means subtracting whatever amount from what I owe Grimmjow, well, I'll have to answer this one. So, let's just say Sousuke is far older than me, that is to say he holds certain knowledge that I don't. In other words, it's not all about strength. And if it's any delight for you to know, he's training me to take his place once he dies."

Die. The word doesn't seem to be applicable to their kind.

"Are there others stronger than you, others that you know of?"

"Hm… I'm inclined to think there is none. But, really now, illusions are always shattered by their conflicts with reality. I've heard of one, one who is stronger than anyone whom Sousuke has ever met. Not that it should bother me."

The thought distracts me, just as his ominous tone chills me.

"I see. Goodnight, Stark."

He nods to initiate his departure. Finally, I have succeeded in persuading myself to shut the door and bar myself from throwing off more questions. The engine roars off until his distance renders the vehicle out of my earshot, with my curiosity climbing by the millions, never to abate.

I sprint to the porch, and somewhere behind the trees, beyond the darkness, something tells me that I've only known the world's vastness in what I have so far seen. Only now does it occur to me that there may be are others like them out there, others even more powerful than Aizen Sousuke and his right-hand fledgling, Stark.

**TBC**


	16. Immortal

**Chapter XVI: Immortal**

I'm finding it hard to sleep at night; on a night like this, especially. I keep tossing and turning about my bed to shift to more comfortable positions, which probably can't be attained, only because I've glimpsed a power. I wonder how it feels to be one with them, of the lost ones. I wonder how I would be if I need not fight age nor submit to it. I want to know what amount of power it requires for mortals to evade the one hundred years, or less, allotted to us on the tombstone. I wonder if I'll ever know. But what is immortality? Why am I so desperately dwelling on this concept, this thing that so little deserves belief? For all I know, immortality is an aberration, if it exists at all. That is the view of the wise. On the whole, however, we incline to another; I, for instance.

So to pacify this madness which I cannot expel, I have to stay near them, if only to stay sane, feel the measure of my life, and realize how little it contains. Jesus, how did I turn out this way? But never mind all these, for I will need adequate sleep, to which I have for so many nights been alienated, if I intend to keep my mind clear tomorrow morning. Apart from all things here mentioned, there is one thing I have to deal with before I go to bed.

I part the blinds over my window to survey the darkness. It has been four nights since I voluntarily dropped by Dr Aizen's house where… He's still outside, standing beside that huge tree, as what he has been doing for three straight nights now. I know what he wants from me, and he wants it with fervor. And this has gone long enough to be the constant reminder of what I have to settle in the long run. I swing my awning window open and plant my palms on the windowsill. I wave at him, not in an inviting gesture but rather in resignation. He sprints over the bushes to come to me. In one effortless leap he manages to clamber over my window. But he remains there, his feet never touching the floor.

"May I come in?" Ulquiorra Scheiffer asks.

"I guess so." I answer, and not a second later I'm receiving him inside.

He studies the contents of my room, takes off his shoes, and roots himself close to the window. I peruse him vacantly, which causes him to return my gaze in a manner that suggests he's not used to such ceremony.

"How are you, Kurosaki?"

"I'm fine. Look, is there anything you wanna say? The truth is, I can't sleep at night knowing you're outside awaiting my notice."

He looks away, his face as inscrutable as his complexion is pale. Slowly he answers, "I've come to realize I'm in no adolescent game any more than I am young. Do you know, Kurosaki, how it torments me to stay away from you?"

Yeah, I know all about it, but there's no relief, much less comfort, in that. If anything, I want nothing less than to expunge the knowledge from my scattered brain.

"I do. You've told me a lot of times. Hey, Ulquiorra, this is hard. I—I don't think I'm capable of giving you what you want. We're—we're living very different lives and I'm hardly sixteen or mature. I'm hardly anything that _should_ matter to you. But…"

Moral fortitude is preventing me from phrasing the rest.

"But what?" he persists, speculating, leaning against the framing of my window, feigning reverence but failing to execute stature, though, with all its imminent, predatory quality, is destroying all his attempts to look human enough.

"It's—I don't know. I figured it's very difficult to stay away from you, too. It's almost as difficult as trying to consider you and myself as something. Listen, you have captivated me; I can't deny that. But, more than that, I'm not so sure if it's your immortality or your adamant pursuit of me that's causing me this surrender. What I'm trying to say is, this past week has disturbed me chiefly because of your absence."

It's so sudden, so excruciating, so ruining an admittance that I have to avert my gaze. Conversely, he stays unmoving, as if reflecting something he thought he heard. Still donning an expressionless face, he lifts his gaze from the floor for me to grasp how little his conduct resembles Grimmjow's.

"Well, that being said, I assume you are forgiving me for having trespassed against your comfort one week ago."

"Yes, I forgive you, seeing that there's nothing to gain from guilt-tripping or pretending to hate you." I say it like some sort of a truth that one can't utter in full consciousness. For a moment color darkens his cheeks. I continue, "But do me a favor, will you?"

"Whatever you ask."

"Cut it with blaming Stark for stumbling upon me on their hunt."

He sinks in meditation and remains there. Eventually, he answers, "Alright. I can do that, with difficulty, though."

From what I observe, all natural moroseness in him dissipates. As such, the continuous existence of his sovereign peculiarity and all the wonders in him are being piloted over this room, over me, and I can do nothing but to pay tribute to them—by staring. He maintains his posture with a thoughtful air about him, his paleness evincing an unearthly glow. He has no further reason to stay longer just as much as my body is nearing zombie-trance. Yet I can't drive him away; not now when his green eyes are reflecting gladness and beyond.

"Now that we have reached an understanding, I suppose we can save the rest of this some other time." I manage to say in spite of myself.

"Goodnight, Kurosaki, and get yourself a lot of sleep."

He slips his feet into his shoes, nods minutely, and heaves himself to the window.

"You will be at school tomorrow, won't you?" I ask. He turns around.

"Of course. I'll be done with my hunt before dawn. Sleep well." With another nod he resumes his flight.

"W—what are you having?" I really need to learn how to shut up. Nevertheless, he postpones his retreat altogether. Slowly, in gentle strides, he walks over me until his closeness renders the atmosphere unnerving.

"Certainly not a human, so don't worry. But, really now, get some sleep already."

He brushes the side of my face with his ice-cold palm. Though I'm not asking for it, there's nothing forceful about the manner by which he's doing it. And when his lips touch my forehead, I feel no resistance rise from my chest. This is very different from the powerless disdain I had felt four days ago with his brother. And on understanding that he has crossed no boundaries, I steady myself and pull away.

"I'll sleep now."

...

"Ichigo, mate, will ya tell that Grimmjow dude to stop staring?" Renji, exposing the sincerest of disconcertion, begs me.

We're in the track field again for PE class. Sure enough, Grimmjow, with his unrivaled prowess in glaring, is sending me contemptuous glances with the collective might of both his eyes. I must note that he's not wasting a single minute to take the opportunity to do that. The resiliency, man; what the hell did I do again? It must be the effect of the sun. He's idling beneath the shade of the bench stand, never daring to tread the broad path of today's daylight, which from an ordinary observation is dim, but not dim enough for his kind's taste.

"Just ignore him." I tell Renji, not really keeping the same sentiments with what I have said.

Renji scowls at me before disparagingly exclaiming, "Why don't you go over there and ask him what exactly his problem is so I wouldn't have to bother with dodging murder? I mean, look at him! Is he jealous or—"

"—watch your mouth, Abarai." I warn. I shed my expression of annoyance, and then I glance at Grimmjow. He's still staring. I continue with Renji, "But then again, I'll take your advice after all."

With brisk steps I approach the bastard, my eyes never fleeing from his stony gaze. It occurs to me that I only have enough confidence to steer my legs to the right direction. As I reach him, I tear my eyes away.

"Took you long enough." He tells me. Haughty jerk.

Irritation starts to spread over me like wildfire, and, to think of the trouble I've just gone through to approach him, this is verging on unacceptable.

"I'm guessing I've done something you don't like. Again. But guess what, Grimmjow: I don't effing care. And I'm only here to inform you that you can glare at me all day long if you choose to; it won't change a damn thing—"

"—it's not you, honestly. But let me focus on the pressing matter at hand. D'you remember what you told me four nights ago in my room? That things had been settled between us? That I was no longer indebted to you in whatever sense and vice versa? I think not."

"Yeah, I know that. It was a lousy truce for my part while you got the better deal; the whole thing is working for your advantage, and you know it. Having said that, I take it you more or less understand that I settled with that because I don't want to have a shit to do with you anymore."

He yawns, indicating there's nothing I've said that could have provided him some big-time thrill.

"That clearly is a lie."

"Which is?"

"That which says you don't wanna have anything to do with me."

"It's a lie, alright; a fucking understatement, actually. So allow me to rephrase that: you're a royal pain in the ass and I can't waste my time on you any more than I should."

"Will you sit here beside me?"

I flinch at the invitation.

"No, thanks."

"This is gonna be a long talk, you know."

"Speak for yourself." I turn around with my barely concealed anger lifting from me.

"Don't make me walk after you _under the sun_." He says firmly, the threatening nature of his voice explicit, thereby suspending my retreat.

"Then don't walk after me."

"I can't."

"You can't walk under the sun either. That means you have to stay here."

"Of course I can. It only means first degree burns on the surface of my skin. And don't forget I heal fast."

Upon reconsideration, I speak, "Dammit, what do you want?"

His eyes narrow to partially shield them from the sun's meek glare. I'm starting to think that things now can't change without changing for the worse. He asks,

"Do you hate me?"

"…"

"No answer?"

"…"

"Let me rephrase that: do you love Scheiffer?"

"Dammit, Grimmjow, don't be a fucking fucktard. Not here."

"Did you for once think he could give you so many things that I couldn't?"

"Fuck this. Fuck you and your goddamn logic."

"That can be arranged. So what was last night all about? Don't get me wrong; I simply couldn't help overhearing what he was telling you."

I freeze. I'm feeling so impelled to walk away, to let him chase me down and get slight burns, and just bar myself from the agony of explaining, which I don't deserve, by the way. I'm feeling so tempted in fact that it's pretty hard to consider the alternative possible; to talk. But talk I do,

"You wanna know what the difference is between you and Ulquiorra? It's that you're a jerk and he isn't. He's temperate and you're forceful. He knows reason which you completely lack. And so many other things. Believe me; I tried, toiled, pined, hoped to understand you and give you a damn chance to get along fine with me. However that may be, it appears fate has no plans for things of that sort. Now, have I answered all your questions? If so, I'm hoping that sinks well at the bottom of your goddamn skull, which I hope isn't empty."

It's dispiriting, foul, flagrant, offensive, hurtful, and hateful. But I hardly care. He's immortal; I'm human, so human in such a way that I can't engage my world into his. And what would my loss be to him? In sum, he has seen centuries end behind him, he's handsome beyond imagination, and is living a life impossible to live, while I dangle between mediocrity and failure.

But now he's wallowing mutely in his broodings, and with his silence we might as well be half a world apart. But what is this? I expected an explosion, a fit of the cruelest curses, but instead he remains seated, pacified by something I've failed to see. As if consumed by the most complex of thoughts, he answers,

"Do you want immortality?"

That distracts me from my anger. No, it stuns me. No sooner than I know it, my thoughts are battling one another. Before this, only as a distant clamoring had the thought of immortality breached the recesses of my mind. I was never selfish enough to consider the possibility of obtaining it or even to entertain the mere thought of it. For who would know its consequences, its reaction as an eternal reward and as personal pleasure? Not me.

"Stop talking shit." I answer.

"Do you want it?" He presses.

I figure it's darn near time for this joke to end.

"It's evil. It doesn't matter if I want it. What matters is, it's not supposed to be. Don't talk to me about this again." I hear myself say, not wholly believing it's me who's speaking.

A faint grin issues from his mouth, but it's not the sort of grin he habitually evinces. If anything, it is without malice or hidden meaning, if such things are indeed extricable from him.

"Now that it's been made clear there's no way you can be immortal like me, I hope you get it now that if I don't win you in your lifetime, it would cost me eternal torment." He says, his voice ringing frigid, with so much sternness that it's hard to believe it's coming from him who I so constantly call a bastard. He presides, realizing nothing in the world can give me the will to speak at the moment, "If by some manner of life's cruelty that you happen to choose Scheiffer, then try to hold me in your mind once in a while and never, never ever desire the same lives we're living. I'll never let you become one of _us_. Not while I'm alive."

It's almost vexing to look at him, to witness such grand sullenness from so beautiful a creature, whose insides seem to be suffering the worst of bitterness. Slowly my voice unties and my throat loosens,

"I—I never even considered that—never in all the months I've known of you and your kind—"

"—even granted that, there's no guarantee you wouldn't beg for it in the future. Just promise me that one thing, Ichigo. I'm not asking you to chuck Scheiffer and be with me. Promise me you'll never ask for the Accursed Gift."

In the concentration in his gaze and its unsparingly imploring quality, I manage to nod indistinctly, with my insides feeling as though they were being ravaged by every sort of emotion.

"F—fine. I—I promise."

He nods in satisfaction before standing up. He spruces up, hinting on departure, as if there's nothing more to say, as if stepping under sunlight wouldn't do him any harm. I make a sudden, startled movement, involuntarily expressing protest against his flight. But quicker than I succeed on phrasing a word does he speak,

"The sum and meaning of this conversation is the fact that I love you. Live with it."

And he sprints under the sun to disappear into the dugout.

**TBC**


	17. Aizen Sousuke

**Chapter XVII: Aizen Sousuke**

I'm beginning to suspect something ill has rounded up on me to disarm me altogether. This becomes more than a suspicion when I arrive home to find Dr Aizen's car parked on our garage. I traipse my way to our doorstep with my head still clogged with a thousand thoughts, and, yet, a pile of conjectures come shooting down on me as I draw closer to our porch.

With extraordinary caution, I swing the door open and step inside. Dr Aizen himself is seated on our single couch, legs crossed, looking like a mighty divinity descended for a visit in your regular small town. Dad is sitting across him, composed and behaving as reservedly as a damn pope. Like, I'd buy that shit.

"Welcome home, son. I believe there's no need for introductions here. Dr Aizen has finally paid us a visit." Dad tells me.

Dr Aizen gives me a smile, the warmness of which could've made any woman's day. He must be very bored with this and probably just consented to come to comply with social observances. As if an immortal would't have lived without it.

"Hello, Ichigo-kun. How is school today?"

"It's a good day. Sunshine early this morning was invigorating; made me rejoice all day long in fact." I answer. Just for the hell of it, I want to know how he'll react to a deliberate remark.

He winks at me. What the hell was that for? Oh well, I suppose a leader of vampire coven is not someone on whom a lousy prank would work.

"Now that you've mentioned it, the weather is getting pleasanter by degrees." Dad comments.

I give them both a nod, a signal of exit, before I disappear into the kitchen. Stealthily, I listen to their exchanges to catch snatches of the topic of their conversation. It appears that dad is very interested in the particulars of his visitor's medical profession; the very same shit I'm least interested in. From the breakfast nook counter, I'm stealing glimpses of Dr Aizen's mannerisms. I'm not exactly being on the lookout in case he's off to grab my dad's neck and dry him out because the improbability of which has been made repeatedly clear to me. I'm merely curious about how good he is at pretending to be one of our kind. To start with, the biscuits and tea on the coffee table lay untouched, almost unwanted, and it doesn't seem like they're bound to be noticed anytime soon. For another, something else appears to be occupying him, something which doesn't have a damn thing to do with the unfavorable weather this month is giving the vampires.

His eyes keep falling on the portrait of my mom, which is nailed above the fireplace.

My mom was a beauty; I know that, and so does everyone who had been with her when she was alive. With that, I kinda pardon my dad for hanging such a humongous, attention-grabbing piece of homage on the otherwise bare wall. But, surely, sometimes it's difficult to imagine it as something less than a bitter tribute to someone so dearly beloved and now gone. That being the case, there have been times when I would walk in on dad in the middle of the night sitting across the lavishly framed picture, seemingly ruminating on something grave and looking lost in the depths of something inescapable. And always such occasions never failed to induce pity. But in the morning he would recover and would greet the portrait with the same brightness and fondness of someone who seemed to have suffered no serious loss.

Dr Aizen Sousuke is now looking very much like that.

His grim sentiments appear to have no means of extending to dad. I'm scrutinizing him, in such a way that could have had me accused of plotting an ambush. And yet he doesn't show any sign that he can feel my stare. I trace the path of his gaze to be doubly sure of my speculations. He's, without another thought, entranced by some mystic force, or what appears like it, that's invariably beckoning his gaze to my mom's portrait.

At length, and I guess it's about time for it, Dr Aizen turns his head to me and smiles. That shakes me off my snooping. Hardly aware of what I ought to do next, I nod clumsily before hopping my way upstairs.

...

It's pretty hard to look at him in the eye, especially when doing the opposite gives you a harder time. This dude has just about done something which required a whole damn lot of sanity for me to digest. I knew I was about to receive some shit of this sort sooner or later. It's just that I also had always known it was going to be something so intricate and too much for me to stay cool about. So Grimmjow Jaggerjack is in love with me, or so he says, and unlike anything I've discovered so far, THIS IS FUCKING INSANE.

First and foremost, having a mighty vampire, who by the way is handsome as fuck, watching me with his superhuman eyes every waking hour at school is certainly not in my list of ideal experiences, thank you very much. For another, it's bad enough that his brother, also a vampire, thank you very much, has just about done the same thing—confess his love to me—a few nights ago. Now, I have given my situation some decent thinking over the last two days, and what I have put up so far to alleviate its shittiness is insomnia. I can't fucking sleep. I mean, what is this all about anyway? And then there's Dr Aizen, lounging around in our living room and staring strangely into my mother's damn picture as though he's more or less all set up to erect an altar for it, dammit. For all I know, this can't get any more baffling. But then again, you can't be too sure of anything, not when two vampires are in love with you.

...

The cafeteria is jam-packed with students and their groundless enthusiasm. Girls keep grinning at dudes, and I don't quite understand how this is gonna pan out. Seriously, do giggling and blushing volunteer any assistance in getting a dance partner? And the dudes, man, are sporting unusual amount of manly air. This is stupid. Even more stupid is the fact that the chicks are using this break-time period to inquire about their prospective dance partners as though it could be considered as something that's done purely out of leisure.

A few minutes into observing this behavior, something odd lowers itself upon our lunch table. Rangiku Matsumoto, the goddess of all chicks, is heading towards us. Renji's grin falls off his cheeks, as if succumbing to gravity; it's almost dramatic. Maybe she's gonna borrow a bottle of ketchup from us. But now she's really close. Everyone, and I mean everyone, perks up his head to confirm the reality of what's going on. She's standing at the foot of _our_ table.

She smiles. Her beaming face evokes a certain mood; the kind that can enhance a male's sexual urges to twice their natural amount. She speaks,

"Toushiro Hitsugaya, can I have a word with you?"

I'll be honest here. For a second there, I thought she was gonna say _my_ name. I'm not betting I'm the only one who acquired the sentiment; I'd be damned if Renji didn't initially think she approached to ask him. Moving on, all our eyes shift to Hitsugaya. The look he's wearing now is only a degree mellower than ours. Slowly he nods, in no less confusion than what the situation demands.

"Er, okay."

Toushiro follows the gorgeous senior to the nearest exit. When they have gone, Ishida gets to recover first.

"What a lucky bastard."

"Struck gold, no doubt." Kira agrees.

Renji is incredulous. With difficulty, he manages to ask, "You don't think she's asking him to the dance, do you?"

"Oh, yes we do." Hanatarou says.

"But how can this be? There was never a hint to it, and Toushiro never said anything—"

"—he just simply feels it's nothing that he should broadcast." Rukia intercepts Renji. She continues, "I think it started when Toushiro was asked one time to sit-in into the seniors' Algebra class or something. The professors wanted to ascertain which level he's fit for. And then after that, Matsumoto-san would beam at him every time he'd pass her anywhere."

That explains it. I realize I'm really glad for Toushiro. I also realize that no one has asked me to the dance yet. Rukia asked Renji, much to his disappointment, and Inoue is going with Kira. I believe Ishida was asked by a sophomore, Nemu Kurotsuchi, which caused quite a stir among us, though not as much of it as with Toushiro and Matsumoto-san. Chad will be going with a senior whose name I don't know. Even Hanatarou has managed to get himself a dance partner. On top of it all, the dance is only a week away. I guess this thing doesn't agree with me just as I hate it.

I'm walking home alone now, silently attributing my failure to get a dance partner to my obvious and deliberate lack of enthusiasm for the event. I reckon I have announced more than a dozen times that I had no interest in attending. I'm currently only half aware of my surroundings, still less of being followed, when Ulquiorra dashes in beside me with so little sound that I'm quite sure he has purposed to startle me.

"I'll walk you home." He says, making it sound more like a statement rather than an offer.

"Fine."

"You're looking downcast. Is something the matter?"

Indeed I am presently so disquieted and reflective that one might suspect I have a lot strapped against my back. As always, his presence now reminds me of something that will add more weight to my thoughts,

"Never mind that. I have to ask you something about your pops—Dr Aizen."

Mildly perplexed, he stretches out a hand to me, "Before I answer any of your queries, I'd like to carry your backpack for you; it looks too heavy for your shoulder."

I can as much give it a damn consideration as I can leave the subject of Dr Aizen alone.

"That wouldn't be appropriate, much less necessary. But, Ulquiorra, there's something I need to know about—"

"—hand it over; there's no harm in it."

"No. That would be gay, you know."

"Humans are so adamant. But you should really hand it to me now." He says. Heedless of my refusal, he smiles faintly, giving his face a look of surpassing pleasantness in spite of his paleness and his inhuman features. It dawns on me that I have so often stared at this face of so mystic a nature that anything less crystalline, like my pals' appearances, is almost stifling to me. Without another thought I thrust my Jansport in his chest, to which he mutters 'Thank you'.

I pursue, "Now, about your dad—"

"—Surely, Kurosaki, that can wait. There's something I'd like to ask you too."

"What is it?"

"Who are you going with to the dance?"

"No one. I'm not going."

"I see. Why?"

"Because it ain't my thing… hey, are you going? With whom?" I ask. Man, I've been very conducive to being a prying son of a gun lately.

"I've been asked by a few. Would you like me to recommend you to any of them?"

Man, I must say my ego is getting injured big time.

"No, thanks. So, who are you going with?"

"I still don't know."

"You make it sound like you have a lot to choose from."

"Two from your batch, two from my batch, and three from the seniors have asked me."

"Wow. Know what? Let's change the subject." I scowl at him.

"Excuse me. If that's the case, would you go with _me_?"

"…"

Me and him. To the fucking dance. I can't even begin to imagine that. He really has to do something about his unsound tendency to utter shit in the most inconvenient time—

"—I was only joking." He says, his grim countenance never leaving him.

"Yeah, you one-upped me, alright." I roll my eyes. He's still staring. The bastard. I recompose myself, trying to look otherwise than moronic, before continuing, "Going back to my concern, I need you to tell me a thing or two about your father."

His cheeks slacken to adapt his entire look to the conventions of a serious talk. He answers,

"Alright, what do you need to know?"

Man, I'm really gonna sound insane. But, with regards to everything, I just have to ask it if not investigate further, the latter being tediously shitty. I mean, I'm pretty sure I'm being logical here, what with the three occasions in the last week and half that Dr Aizen was in our house. In those occasions he could hardly take his eyes off my mom's portrait. Additionally, he'd do it out of my dad's detection, in every chance he got. But then after a thorough brainstorming, I decided I could do this without sounding downright intrusive, so I answer,

"How long have Dr Aizen and Halibel-san been together?"

It takes him slightly aback. Nevertheless, he answers, "A little less than half a millennium. Why do you ask?"

The scale of the answer is rather hard for me to grasp, much less to believe. I stammer,

"I see. H—have—damn, I don't wanna do this—have they always been in love, like truly?"

The clatters of his soles die down. I pull to a halt and turn to him. He's giving me this frozen gaze that could've raised an alarm of some impending doom. For a second I resolve to brush the matter aside and change the subject. But then he sighs, and before long I hear him ask,

"Has father been paying your family a visit more often than he ought to?"

"He has dropped by three times over the past two weeks."

He gazes pensively at me, and under his guard he sighs again.

"Kurosaki, there is something you need to know aside from the ones you want to know. I shall answer your questions truthfully, if only to please you, but what you are about to discover is something of great importance. More importantly, it should be confined in secrecy. First, you're asking if mother and father have always been in love. I say yes. But this sort of love is difficult to classify. Mother has always looked at father as her master, not her equal, and she believes her place is to remain faithful to him for as long as she will live. And I do not doubt that she's in love with him in much the same way a woman should love her husband. As for father, it has always been true that he can't quite accomplish anything great without mother by his side. And great things are what he's living for. He is very happy in knowing that he has the whole stretch of eternity to spend with her. In the light of it all and most true of all, I'm afraid, is that father would have been infinitely happier had he been with this certain woman whom he loved above all, and still loves. Once upon a time it was. And she's dead now."

I gape at him; he looks away.

**TBC**

**A/N: I want to make one thing clear here: I haven't decided on the pairing yet. And though this is categorized under GrimmIchi, there's no complete guarantee of its sticking to that convention. So if you're rooting for GrimmIchi or UlquiIchi, er, I'd like to know your reasons for that, in which case I can get a few ideas, of which I've COMPLETELY run out.**


	18. Night

**Chapter XVIII: Night**

If his face could get any graver it would mean my imagination was very limited. But now I'm not really one to talk since silence has completely taken hold of me. Is his story heading towards a direction which I'm not sure I'd like to hear? He walks on ahead, fluidly and soundlessly, as if to imitate the stalking darkness and everything it bodes. I follow suit, with so little regard to where he's leading me.

"Are you hungry?" He asks.

"No appetite. Hey, you were saying what?"

"Not here. Where do you wish to eat? My treat."

What in blazing hell is this? He is asking me out, possibly even hitting on me. However true that is, now is not the time to think of that, evidently.

"If you insist." I consent upon realizing there's no way I'd hear the end of his story without having to do this _his_ way.

We head to the nearest fast-food chain and settle ourselves on a table beside the window. I ordered double cheeseburger, large fries, and cola and insist on paying my bill since all these will be going down my throat anyway. No use, though, and with the number of fresh cash in his wallet, man, all reasons to argue over the damn bill fly out the window.

He's watching me munch on my dinner.

"Is it good?" He asks.

"Yeah, wanna try?" I push the bag of fries towards his hand, which is resting on the table.

"Much as I want, I can't."

"Why not? A bite won't hurt, right?"

He withdraws his hand from the table and pulls away, showing a remarkable dislike against what's laid out before him.

"On the contrary, it would be no different from swallowing dirt of every possible kind."

"You're exaggerating."

"I'm not."

The thought strikes me as funny. If only I could succeed in making him eat a bite... Indeed, it is remarkable that something this trivial can distract me when something very intriguing awaits me. So I, so intent in hearing what I think will please me, pursue the next thing in the story he's willing to tell,

"So then, Ulquiorra, who was this woman with whom your dad was in love?"

He leans over, plants both his elbows on the table, and cups his chin with his fists. He looks at me square in the face, perhaps exacting something of a good deal.

"You have to promise me that you're not going to abhor my father after this."

"Why would something like that be even likely?"

"Because he was in love with _your_ mother."

That shuts me up for a grand deal of time. This is and ought to be a mistake and, though there's not much proof of the contrary, there is also virtually nothing to steer what he claims to that one great thing we like to call the truth. And so this just can't be.

His grave expression shifts to another, something less dense, which suggests something has disrupted his mind. He scuffles for a ply of table napkin, and before I know it he's _dabbing it on my mouth_; I didn't notice until quite too late that I was gaping idiotically, so that pieces of the partly chewed patty in my mouth had fallen out. I snatch the table napkin from him before several malicious eyes drill on us.

"W—wait a minute, Ulquiorra. This has to be cock and bull, and spotting bullshit is my special talent, man!"

"Just as I thought; you're mad. Let's not talk about this—"

"—I ain't darn mad; I'm—damn—I'm dumbfounded. That's bull, isn't it? You can pull a damn joke—"

"—Calm down. Hear me out." He waits for me to finish wiping the vestiges of food on my mouth, with the least hint on his enthusiasm over the subject. After a grand deal of time he resumes, "Remember that time when I told you that Sousuke was bound to this place? That in here is a part of him he can't let go? But, before that, let me ask you, what is your family's purpose of settling here?"

"Dad says he got a good deal in the hospital here. Nothing more to it."

"Your mother, Masaki was her name, right?"

"How the fuck?—yeah."

As I can't quite find a way to prevent myself from gawking, he continues,

"Twenty years ago she was around eighteen years old or so; not that you, her son, need to be informed of that. One summer, twenty years ago, she was working as a nurse's assistant here; in the very same hospital where your father and Sousuke are currently working. I suppose it was some preparatory program for aspiring doctors or something of that sort. The point is, Father then was here too, completing a six-year residency for his medical course. He chose this place particularly for the fine weather. Of course there were lots of candidates too, such as London and the Irish countryside, but for variety, since we had then for so long been holed in European countries, Father opted to give this place a chance. By then, he was already a doctor, but still a struggling one. He was using a different name at that time, and there were only three of them living here. I was in New Orleans, studying languages; Grimmjow and Stark were in Paris, ridding the streets with cads; and Neliel was somewhere far down the Equator, trying to get used to the sun and failing miserably. Father, Mother, and Szayel took an apartment uptown. They assembled their setting here in such a way that stated Father was living alone in his flat. At that time Mother was inconvertibly preoccupied with fending after Szayel. The two would only go out at night to hunt, unseen by public eyes. Father had to work just like your regular doctor for the education. It wasn't too complicated, what with the fact that he seldom saw the light of day within the enclosures of his working place. And then he met your mother."

This is simply too much for human patience to endure. I wish he wouldn't stop, but then if he didn't I'm afraid the weight of what he's saying would overwhelm me.

"What the hell happened next?" I entreat, to which he nods.

"Your mother's scent, according to Sousuke, only slightly varied from yours. So he approached her, completely entranced by her scent and beauty, and much more so by what he didn't know about her. From then on he would act as though he were truly alive, that he never _died_. He still maintained his position in the principal constituents of a married life, but Mother knew he was never going to be the same again."

"But your Mother, Halibel-san, was she just about to allow that? Wasn't that infidelity on your father's part? And to think she loved him so much." I say, almost too indignant in this so wrong a place.

"It's hard to understand that part, even for me. The best way I can put it is this; Mother is bound to Father in a subservient way and there's this ready receptivity about her that makes it easy to accept whatever folly he has. And, above all, she knew, and always will, that in the end it will be her and him standing at some edge of the Earth to watch their last sunset. As I interpret it, it doesn't matter to her where his heart is, so long as he's beside her. It's sad, but at least their immortality holds them together."

"What the fuck? Was she even okay with that shit going on?"

"Oh sure, she was. She would give the world to him, after all. Hmm, I digress. To continue, there was this blooming romance between Father and Masaki-san. Father reckons she was the most beautiful thing he had ever laid eyes on, and I do not doubt she had thought of him in the same way. In the long run, his efforts to own her didn't amount to much. He couldn't be completely honest with her. He resolved to keep her intact should fate be against them. And fate was, from the start, against him. He couldn't make her the same as us. He loved her too much, valued her as much as he professed and more than she believed or knew. So he moved on, left this place and his heart along with it. But as what love dictates, every once in a while after his permanent departure, he would secretly and adeptly grace this soil to glimpse her—outside her knowledge and suspicion. Father only stopped this sly occupation after having assured himself that she would be fine. That assurance came in the form of your father, who started working here a year after Father, Mother, and Szayel left the town. Two years later Dr Kurosaki took your mother away to settle somewhere in the North, I believe, in a place called Karakura, where you grew up. On the other hand, the members of my family reunited. Many years later, we learned that your mother had died. Father was on the brink of destruction. He wasn't strong enough to consign it all to the past, so he had to move on and take on a new identity to be able to settle here again and work in the exact same place where he met her one dry morning many summers ago. It took a lot of work to forge a number of papers and erase all signs that might connect him to a previous employee and resident of the hospital. But it all paid off. Now here we are. The story ends here." He pauses, more to give me a moment of repose, rather than assign silence to what the weight of his story might have required. He resumes, "Do you now know the reason why you're here? It's for the very same reason that I'm here: our fathers are reliving bygone days to recount the past they once tasted and had long since tried to leave behind."

Hearing this revelation of so great a magnitude only pushes my thoughts to run rampant and forces the questions I've been obsessing to ask to silence. He searches my face, for some insight perhaps, and finally concludes I need to be taken home. Not a minute later do I find myself walking the steps I take every day, with him beside me. When we reach the porch, I twist our front door's doorknob without a word, and also without a signal of dismissal I proceed upstairs.

Upstairs, in my room, I find him seated on my windowsill.

"May I come in?" he asks.

"Sure"

He pulls my swivel chair and installs himself on it. Unless I'm much deceived by my current disorientation he seems distraught too. And so Ulquiorra speaks again,

"I shouldn't have told you anything."

"So you think I don't deserve to know a shit about it?"

"Nothing like that. But should this bring sorrow to you, which I think it does now, I would be very much deserving of the blame."

"For telling me? Bullshit. I feel better in knowing, and you did your best in telling me. I can never imagine what it would be like to stay ignorant about it. So I thank you, Ulquiorra, sincerely."

He folds his arms over the armrests, resembling in all particulars the majesty of those royalties you see in portraits. He peruses me with longing eyes and nothing more than that. I stare at the window behind him; darkness is filling the sky.

In a swift motion he stands up, approaches my sitting figure on the bed, and kneels before me. Resting his hand on mine, his skin felt cold and waxy. But in this moment I'm feeling so alone and perturbed by nothing, not even his closeness. We remain like this, silent as cobblestones, gathering what stillness the world may please to grant us. In time his hand is tightening around my wrist, as if to shake me off my numbness.

"Kurosaki, do you wish to be alone now?"

"No. Stay."

Man, now I'm in for it, and, to think my mind right now has so scant means of support, this situation may turn out... I want him to stay, that's what's disturbing me. And I want him near, even nearer than he is now. Dimly, I perceive that I cannot, nor should I, allow myself to submit to such momentary whim. But he's so beautiful, so gentle, and so large is his presence that it couldn't have thrived without having an effect. And with so little provocation and so entirely without any justification, I lean forward, the gap before us diminishing. He does the same, somehow knowing that for him to resist me is like attempting the impossible.

He kisses me. I kiss him back. Inwardly I'm cursing myself for giving in so easily. I pull away; he doesn't ask for more. He studies me, seeming careful not to run the slightest risk of ruining the mutuality.

"You are tired." He declares.

"I guess I am."

He heaves a sigh and fiddles a clump of my hair. He stands up.

"I'll be leaving you to rest now."

He's taking his leave as if nothing worthy of noting has occurred. But then it's better this way, rather than to dwell on what I have just done and allowed. Refusing to meet his gaze, I answer,

"Goodnight, Ulquiorra."

"Have a good sleep, my beloved."

**TBC**

**A/N: Er, I didn't wanna write cheese of this sort-i just had to. i needed to justify why ulquiorra and grimmjow hold much attraction to kurosaki and i had to write a damn background about aizen so it wouldn't seem like everything was a stupid coincidence. so sorry if this complicates things. in any case, i thank you for bearing with this crap and also for the suggestions.  
**


	19. Submission

**A****/N**: This is an ugly chapter. it sucks so hard that it pushed me to have itself uploaded by the first sudden means to rid my pc of further suffering. sorry for the drag. in any case, skipping this sh*t would be a good idea.

**Chapter XIX: Submission**

My beloved, he addressed me. Is this how everything should come down to? That I, being so enamored by his immortality, should be damned by falling into him? Even if such is the case, all instincts tell me to escape from it all, for if not I'll be doomed to some great calamity which probably is no less than being sundered from him, forever. The thought, I do not know why, is eating me up. I can't break away from it, from him, because doing so would mean to rest into the accepted and the familiar, which claim that vampires do not exist. Not only is it difficult but also impossible in all likelihood.

I drain the night away in my sleep. In the morning I find my room in very much the same state as I left it before I fell asleep, except that the walls seem to be speaking of the secrets bottled herein. At breakfast I resolve not to immerse dad into a serious conversation regarding mom. I suppose years of silence is enough testimony to his pain, and bringing it up won't for sure be of any help.

At school, the fact that no one has asked me to the dance yet is edging up on me. Just who the fuck invented this ladies' choice policy anyway? Didn't he know that it would take up the task of measuring a boy's status and subjecting it to public awareness? By this time I'm quite sure people are snickering behind my back for my misfortune of—

"Yoh, Kurosaki."

It's Grimmjow. The sight of him introduces me to a whole new concern—I just kissed his brother last night. Fuck. And, boy, if he learns of it—which probably he has done—if anyone learns of it, I will stuff myself in a casket right here, right now.

"Hi." I greet back. I hasten my steps which causes him to pitch his speed on par with mine.

"What the hell? You getting chased by death or somethin'?"

"I'm running late for Biology."

He is wearing his honest to god injurious grin. Though scarcely perceptible, his malignity is rather hard to miss, ironically.

"Who are ya goin' to the dance with?"

"No one has asked me yet."

"Just as I thought." He mutters knowingly.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means there's no point in going."

"That is my plan."

He pulls to a halt and recovers,

"You've no plans of going? Well then, if that's the case, I'm sure you'd like to go on a road trip with me in Wakkanai, Hokkaido on that day."

That was totally unlooked for, not to mention sudden. In accordance to that, my steps die down.

"What?"

"Ya heard me. I promise I won't pull anything funny on you."

Did he for once think that flashing that sort of face would help him in getting people's trust? I scrutinize him, in search of something which I perhaps won't find. There's simply no way I'll go with him. It's scarcely even a matter of trust; it's a matter of how Ulquiorra would take it. I see no commitment on my part that incurs me a sort of responsibility to be faithful to him at whatever sense—it was just a kiss. But surely he won't be happy upon hearing this, much less if I consent. And so I look at Grimmjow. I remember he didn't talk to me for days—barely even pitched a glare on me. He truly has been true to his words, virtuous even, perhaps out of fear of my hatred or the lack of opportunity to wreak his mischief loose.

"And what, may I ask, are we supposed to do once we're there?"

He pulls ahead until our distance accounts for only a foot. He sheds his grin and puts on a disguise of civility, which works really well, until I ascertain that he is indeed serious about this. He speaks,

"Just come with me—"

"—for what?"

"Something cool. Now, is it a 'yes' or a 'no'?"

"No, Duh."

Grimmjow glares at me and speaks, unable to contain his impatience any longer, "I told you, I'm not asking anything from you more than to spend a day with me—"

"—and you expect that much from me after so adequate an explanation. I'm sorry but I don't go out with strangers, much less with a vampire who wouldn't tell me shit."

He scowls at me, and with visible reluctance begins to speak,

"I need a _human _with me on this task. They're here—the others, the ones we call—dammit— my point is, they won't lay a damn finger on me if I'm with a mortal. And I only want to observe their movements. Don't ask anymore, Kurosaki."

"Who the fuck are they, dammit? You sound like you're up to sticking your nose where it doesn't belong."

"Darn right I am. Just say 'yes' and I'll tell you there."

The ominous ring in his voice stirs in me a sudden curiosity.

"Others? Are you referring to other people of your kind? Vampires?"

"…"

"What, dammit?"

"Hmm… not exactly. Some _other_ race." He answers and looks away, evasive.

"What?"

"…"

"Werewolves?"

"…"

"Wizards?"

"…"

"Trolls? Giants? What the fuck?"

"I'll tell you later." At that, he turns around, leaving me with scarcely a word to utter.

The rest of the class is torment to me. Toushiro has duly informed me that Inoue and Rukia had initially sought to have me as their dance partner but, as what courtesy dictates among friends, both mutually stepped down to give each other the shot without knowing I'd be left with no more than the wind itself as my partner. What a comfort this information is. In addition to that, Renji just can't help grumbling about Toushiro's and Ishida's fortune in having two of the most gorgeous girls in school as their partners. Jesus Christ. So as I walk my lonely ass home, I become wholly aware that I am being an insecure son of a bitch who can't content himself with an immortal lover in exchange for a very human ego booster. Make that immortal lovers. What the hell would Rangiku Matsumoto and Nemu Kurotsuchi be beside Ulquiorra and Grimmjow? Something, perhaps.

The dance will be held tomorrow. The school has been quite in hiatus these past few days, or at least my mind has been. Hearing girls here and there squealing in delight over dresses to wear and other such matters is pulling my strings like something that's very akin to an anxiety attack. What's worse is that Renji and the others are not stopping for one damn moment to convince me to come.

When the bell rings, I pelt out the building before anyone gets the chance to intercept me. I'm quite sure Ulquiorra will sooner or later show up to deliver me home, as he always does. But it appears that it is not to be, not any of it, for here is Grimmjow Jaggerjack, standing tall in the middle of the road and flashing a smile that's threateningly handsome in every way. And so it should therefore ensue that I am not to see Ulquiorra tonight.

"I'm pretty sure I've given you enough time to make up your mind."

"I haven't asked my dad."

"Let me talk him into it, then."

"I don't know…"

We walk on together, not argumentative over anything for the first time; nothing short of a miracle. I'm beginning to understand him as someone who's capable of civility and prudence should he deem either necessary to perform. Watching him furtively from here, it's pretty difficult to perceive him in the company of many people where too much mobility surrounds him, for he is simply to good-looking for things of that sort. It almost depresses me.

We arrive at our doorstep faster than I usually do. Dad's car is nowhere to be seen; as always, he's doing overtime.

"Are you going in?" I ask Grimmjow.

He nods before disappearing. I suppose he's not accustomed to using the front door. When I enter my room, I find him seated on the windowsill.

"Do you really have to be invited before you can come in?" I ask in passing, without much thought to it.

"Yeah. Will you invite me in?"

I dump my things on my bed and nod at him, expressing my approval for his request. He doesn't move an inch.

"Well?"

"You have to invite me in or answer 'yes' or blurt out any form of authorization, or shit of that sort, if I asked if I could come in." He recites pointedly, as if to instruct me into some elementary procedure.

"If you just barged in, what would happen?"

"Shit is."

"But in the second time you were in here you didn't even ask for my permission. I got home to find you already seated on my stupid chair, remember?"

"Hey, you must be forgetting that prior to that day, you let me in here for the first time. But then, the first and second time were technically of the same day because it was already past twelve in the evening on that first time. The invitation/permission expires in a day."

"Really? But come on now and tell me."

"You really wanna know?" He asks, sounding as though he's hinting on something gravely forbidden that would surely cost him much to infringe. As for me, I imagine it's just some sort of an unwritten law that if disobeyed, would only concede as a violation of some old superstitious principle. In sum, I assume nothing terrible would spring from it.

"Yeah, I _really_ want to know." I challenge.

His response is not immediate. With what seems like annoyance mixed with reluctance, he lowers his feet to the floor. He spruces up in both legs, and slowly he walks over me.

"Here" He announces.

"Lame. There seems to be no harm—"

Barely has he gone a foot from the window when blood starts to fill his eyes. I can see his shoulders stiffen under an unknown influence. A violent shudder seizes me, and yet worse is to follow. With every step he takes more blood spills from every opening in his body, and no sooner than another batch of blood exits his mouth do I hear myself scream,

"Holy motherfuckin' shit! Come in!" I'm yelling all these mad things one usually cries in the midst of a disaster. All of a sudden his posture slackens, the blood in his face dries up, and his breath restores its normal pace.

"Scared ya." He says in an undertone.

"What the fuck was that all about?" I demand, and panic hasn't flown away entirely.

"You said you wanted to see what would happen if I walked in without permission."

"You could've hinted on it in the first place! Look at you! You're fucking bloody as a goddamn sanitary nap—"

"Don't compare me to such a filthy object, please." He warns, feigning disgust, before producing a handkerchief from his side pocket. Instinctively I rush to my closet to fetch towels and alcohol swabs, after which I hurl them to him.

"Sit down." I order. I pull him by the elbow and onto my bed. I sit him down, and before I know it, I'm too busy trying to decide if I posses talent in paramedical procedures. He doesn't make any movement of protest. In time he snatches a towel and applies it to his face, perhaps embarrassed by his disposition.

"You're scared like a girl. This is nothing serious." He tells me.

"And if I hadn't had the impulse to shout out the invitation you'd be, what, writhing on my floor and pooling my room with your blood?"

"If truth be told, I have a feeling that's something you'd allow."

"Don't be a bastard."

He grins his famous grin, and so malevolent are the compositions of his face that I'm feeling almost sure that Lucifer himself has paid me a visit. Upon giving more attention to what here and now present, it descends on me that he is staring at me with our faces only a few inches apart. The smell of blood is rising from the towel on his lap, though his face is now cleared of any impurities. I observe from here that aside from his face being simply tremendous in its beauty, there is something very imposing and forceful in the way he conducts himself to anything.

"Will you kiss me?" He asks.

This makes me come to mind. Frantically my chest undergoes what feels like a major cardiac arrest. He's not grinning anymore nor is there impudence in his expression. Instead there's only this sincere entreaty. I struggle to bring myself to think of a way of bailing out of this. But then this may end up conceivably worse if I express my refusal in candid terms.

"I—I'm sorry."

"No problem."

He resumes his activities, and for several seconds he doesn't look up at me. It perplexes me that he so readily accepted my refusal without being as daunted or offended as I expected after having been put off. It seems as though I'm no more than a temporary potential source of pleasure to him. Or that's the message he wills to convey.

"Dad will probably be home very late. I will inform you of my decision tomorrow and if he consents or not." I tell him.

"You sure are taking your damn time. Well, I'm off." He gestures casually at my bloodied toiletries. He stands up, all ready to split.

He fingers his collars to examine the blood in them. With a look of mild disapproval he removes his hands from them and gives me a final nod. I watch his back as he approaches the window, all the while still unable to spell what exactly is going on. He doesn't seem mad, though satisfaction is not the term for it.

Is he plainly indifferent?

"Grimmjow." I say, failing to obscure any sign of discomfiture.

He halts. I don't know what sort of expression I'm wearing now, but whatever it is it seems to beckon him to me. He ponders at me, with all intentions of leaving washed away from him, and with nimble strides roots himself before me. Hurriedly, he stuffs one of his fists in his pocket, and slowly, as if with hesitation, he pulls my head to his chest, magnifying the difference in our heights.

I pull my head away to meet his gaze, and my wits go off to realms I do not know. And then there is this staleness bearing down on us which could not have possibly produced such an effect in real life. But this is real and is happening.

He fixes his gaze on mine, tips forward, and kisses me. I kiss back. His kiss grows more fervent, as though there's not gonna be a tomorrow. This is unlike anything I have felt before. As much as I'm refusing to believe this, I feel my hand slide over his chest and the other one travel up the side of his face. I am pressing my lips against his, and he, with not enough restraint to control himself, pushes me against my bed. With only heavy pants to assault the silence, the night continues to advance…

I fail to understand this all. I have no means of explaining how he's able to send all these thrilling sensations over me which are so paralyzing in their aggressiveness that I almost can't picture how any of this will efface, if they ever will.

**TBC**


	20. Deliverance

**A/N**: This chapter sucks more than anything so I have to upload it along with the next one; not that it stands as some form of compensation.

**Chapter XX: Deliverance**

It's really regrettable that humans have such imperfect means of communication. How do I plan to put a stop to this? It doesn't seem like my misgivings are sending much signals out there. The fact is, with the way things are going, there's no way I can make him stop without spoiling something; the mood for instance. Needless to even mention, I can't put up with my hypocrisy a minute longer. It annoys me that a stupid thing should bother me at a time like this.

I break away, against which he doesn't rebel. Upon learning he isn't entirely hostile against the idea of cutting the activity before it even finishes in a natural path, I feel somehow relieved. He bolts upright on his knees, without showing half a sign of intending to pull away. Actually, he isn't showing anything at all that can be associated with disapproval or approval.

"Something wrong?" he asks.

"N—nothing."

"Really?" he asks, this time with a nasty grin. If I hadn't gone used to his peculiar remarks, I'd be in a terrible tongue-tie at this point.

"Don't start."

"Sheesh. Don't you like it?"

One of these days, I'll find a way to answer that without scuffling about for my voice. In the meantime, all I can say is,

"It's not a question of wanting it; it's a question of its being right and wrong."

"But you said there was nothing wrong." He replies, with the last word given a special stress.

"So to speak. Grimmjow, I don't know what in hell got into me, and it's not like you know either." I answer, fully aware that the last thing I can get a hold of is certainty.

He gets off me and casts his body beside mine.

"Oh sure, I know. It means you find a better kisser in me than Ulquiorra."

I don't know how to answer that, let alone figure how he came up with that. But then I'm starting to remember that he has superhuman powers; that is, to hear people's voices from afar. However, that still doesn't answer how he guessed it right that I indeed kissed his brother. I stare at him for lack of a proper response, and, unless my eyes are malfunctioning, he's grinning again.

"What's so fucking funny?"

"You look as though you've just choked on something. Moving on, am I a better kisser than he is?"

There appears to be no limit to how wicked he can get. For all I know, I'd be pretty much dead before he found himself devoid of malignity. Amidst these points, may I add that my tolerance for this sort of things can be explained by nothing at the moment?

Out of nowhere, I ask, "Are you used to this?"

At this particular instant, which is to last for only a second, his grin loosens up,

"What?"

"This."

"Making out?"

"That's not exactly the term I have in mind but, yeah, that's what I'm referring too."

He poises himself to speak up, eyes me with much suspicion, and answers half-heartedly,

"I've done it before, alright-once upon an unpleasant era."

This pitches me up to a whole new level of curiosity. I try to avert his gaze, perhaps to pretend that I don't care as much… simply to conceal the fact that I am really this interested.

"Tell me."

"You wish."

"Well then, I'd like to call this a night."

"People of my kind start their day at night."

"So how many times have you done things of this sort?"

"You are _not_ asking me that."

To begin with, it would be futile effort to try to ask it without indiscretion. He should at least know that.

"Come on now. Knock it off with being a stick in the mud already. Details, man."

He scowls. Ordinarily, I wouldn't go as far as being this much of a gossip whore even if so much of my curiosity would be satiated. However, I also have to keep in mind that this dude has seen life through immortal eyes. He sighs before commencing,

"We all have had rough years, because life is not always on the bright side, or at least it's not always balanced in a nice equilibrium. It was around in the Victorian Era, when I was living alone as I always had in a not-so-nice flat somewhere in Brussels, when I started to descend from grade to grade of wretchedness. I was already a vampire then, though very young in our reckoning. So that was, what, around a couple of centuries ago, wasn't it? I was only a hundred years old then. I was trying to push things to conclusion, trying to figure out how long I could endure living like that, to just drift about, unaware of time. You have to understand and see it as it is; that it was not very different from living a thoughtless and inactive life, far from being a struggle with fatality. You see, life then was so devoid of color, especially for me who had always needed a regular source of entertainment. I couldn't stand society and everything it exacted. On top of the shit-pile, that era was so preposterous; so pretentious and gaudy were the people that I wouldn't have suffered the slightest tinge of remorse had I bled the population dry. The only comfort I could find was confined in women. It wasn't difficult for me, considering their mentality was as such that they unconsciously believed that beauty justified successes and excused failures. And I was, and still am, a very handsome creature. Going back, night after night I would put to bed nameless maidens whose faces I can no longer recall, and in more occasions than none I would feast on more than what carnal pleasure their flesh had to offer. Subsequently, minor complications arose from the tedious task of disposing their bodies. But I couldn't contain my bloodlust. The sex and the pleasure I could abstain from, but the thirst I couldn't subdue. So there, in the course of my life I have slain and deflowered maidens, whose number can't be accounted for by all our fingers combined."

My mind can just lapse into darkness for a year or forever. I did foresee that his history would sound very similar to this, but only now do I realize how unprepared I am for it. I mark the heaviness in my chest, thereby making a sudden movement which isn't at all necessary to prove a point. I know exactly nothing of what to say.

"All those decades you were living alone?"

"Before that ugly stage I was living with Sousuke, Halibel, and Scheiffer. They seemed like a happy family."

"So it was Dr. Aizen who created you?"

"Yeah."

"Was there any particular reason why he did that?"

He heaves a sigh which sounded very much like a dreary echo. Inching in closer to me, he answers, his voice made dismal by the expression that accompanies it,

"If my calculations serve me right, I was born before the Georgian period. At that time, there wasn't anything much from life for me to extract. I was then a twenty-year old bloke, and will remain so even to this day and in so long as I shall survive, who was living with his biological parents. One winter, my father was introduced to this wealthy gentleman who came into town to acquaint the ignorant population to certain oriental products. It turned out that the dude was something of a damn merchant who traveled over lands and seas to do business around the globe. The gentleman was none other than Sousuke, who was going around under a name befitting his appearance. Apart from all these happenings, I wanted to travel the world. In life, I was a very good-looking dude, no questions about that, but nothing seemed to interest me besides your usual unattainable stuff, such as parrying with pirates and shit, conquering virgin lands, and unraveling the geographical wonders. I mean, what would I be other than a handsome prick who liked to dream big? So I snuck out of our mansion—my father was a viscount of some sort—to never return or set foot to my native town again. I ambushed Sousuke in this inn he was staying in. And in there ensued a negotiation that would last for hours unnumbered, a discussion that would be imprinted in my mind for all time. He said he'd agree to take me with him in exchange for my _life_. I didn't exactly know what it meant—not that he had been direct in telling the truth—, but he wouldn't permit another question. Of course, I never considered it as anything equivalent to my very soul. I thought it was just a pledge of a lifetime of service. So I nodded. The next thing I knew was I was looking at a real set of fangs."

"D—d'you regret it? Did you ever?"

"I know best how many times I cursed him in the first years of my transformation."

I am exhorted to sympathize, but am afraid it would convey a different meaning.

"I—I suppose it took you long years to adapt to it. So, after that, you and Dr. Aizen started to live together, didn't you?"

"For several years. In time the voyages exhausted the shit out of me. And I couldn't stand Scheiffer who had then just arrived from somewhere. He was older than me by half a century. So I had to break away and search for my own meaning out there."

"But all this, does it mean you have never loved before?"

He stares at me, looking as though he has never seen anything like me before now nor has the word 'love' ever been personally familiar to him.

"You mean, before you? Nah. I had more sense than to fall recklessly, stupidly."

"…"

"So, Kurosaki, will you go away with me tomorrow?"

Promptly, tension makes its way to me. I cock my head up and sit up to level with him.

"I don't think it's a good idea. Maybe we should go to the School Dance after all."

"Can't you stray from your pattern once in a while?"

We stare at each other in silence. I cannot imagine the extent to which I have to answer this truthfully without betraying myself with what I badly need to hide. I can't stay with him for a day. I just can't give him that, lest temptation masters me. In the end, honesty prevails…

"I can't—dammit—I want this done slowly. You and me."

He smiles at this. In this minute, so much does he resemble the idea of evil itself that I reckon only a few can equal him in terms of strength, much less surpass him.

"I'm a generous negotiator. If you say you can't come with me, then I guess I'll have to put up with that."

There's not a hint of generosity, of which he makes so blatant a claim, in his manner of speaking. In the least, it's all damn scheming and fishy in a diabolical way. I study him, neither able nor willing to understand how he is able to draw me into him just like this. I can vaguely rationalize my situation and visualize what precisely a good natured person would do or think at a time like this. This seems wrong. But wrong or right, I let it happen, for no further validation and establishment of its wrongness or righteousness can make me resist him. Lame, I know.

He kisses me, in a passage of time which seems to stretch to infinity. When it's all over he hops off my bed, and with a wink he disappears into the night.

...

I simply cannot assert in words how stupid this is gonna be. Basically, I can't believe what I'm about to do. Or I refuse to. And as if this stupidity can't ramp up any steeper, my sisters and dad are gawking at me as I skip threads down the stairs.

"Son, you're looking too handsome tonight. Be sure to only attract enough attention." Dad comments, browsing the entirety of my attire from head to foot.

I don't know how I got pitched inside this coat and tie suit just in time for the dance tonight. I do know, however, why I'm in it. Earlier today, some bloke of a vampire, whose name is Grimmjow, took up the responsibility of informing my dad that some sort of a pseudo-prom would be held in the school this evening. I have not the slightest inkling on how well their conversation went, but I'm pretty sure of two things: that dad, in a sudden surfeit of panic, had sped off the nearest mall and the next thing I knew was that he was waving this neat and costly-looking formal attire in my face. I informed him, with a menacing glare at Grimmjow, that I didn't have a freakin' partner for the freakin' event. But no sooner than dad's disappointment became manifest did Grimmjow butt in and told dad with avoidant eyes that he had managed to arrange a last-minute date for me.

Maybe I should've blurted out in a less pompous way the words: "Fuck this, Grimmjow." Maybe the bastard should've received the kick he needed when he started talking to dad in a voice that could caress you if you heard it. Maybe this is all a part of this one sick joke that awaits recognition. But, whichever of these maybe's is the most accurate one, I am once again ensnared into whatever plan he wishes to undertake.

In almost no time, we hear the doorbell chime. Yuzu, in a fit of unexplainable delight, rushes forward the door to entertain inside whoever the fuck it was at the door.

"Come in, come in." I hear my sister hail.

I spin around to learn of the sight at the doorway. What I'm seeing is disarming in all aspects.

Grimmjow is at the doorway, all the notable physical qualities in him made more absolute by his attire and his hairdo. A few feet beside him is Ulquiorra, looking thoroughly displeased, as if trying to disguise himself into a convention to which he can't adapt even given the best of props. And now the sight that leaves me with nothing less than a mouth slightly parted asunder: Their sister, Neliel, is with them. I mean, I can apply all the exaggerations I can imagine and still they wouldn't depart from the truth by more than a damn inch. She's had her hair straightened and reduced in length by several inches, giving her a more mature look—

"Kurosaki, meet your dance partner for tonight." Grimmjow says, gesturing at his sister.

**TBC**


	21. Dampeal

**A/N**: The term 'dampeal' is something I got from 'Vampire Hunter D', which is bloody brilliant by the way.

**Chapter XXI: Dampeal**

At half past eight we reach the school's auditorium. As things stand, I still can't believe what sort of luck I ran into to deserve this. I look at Neliel, who is more or less three inches taller than me on high heels, only to find myself in a total lack of words to glorify her. I stare at her up to such a point where realization enters my head: I should step away from these three. What probably is being shown here is plain and manifest. I stand a long shot far from being their equal in looks, man—

"Oi, Ichigo!" Renji is hollering at me. He's wearing a tuxedo, and with his slender legs and impressionable built, he's looking quite nice, superb even.

As the night advances, I begin to conclude that everyone is looking nice, except for a few who are simply stunning. On the other hand, Ulquiorra and Grimmjow find themselves a secluded table which upon their immediate occupancy is crowded in by a number of females.

"Shall we dance?" Neliel asks me. This is exactly what I have been dreading for the last ten minutes. I glance at her nervously. The message is quite enough: I can't do this. I'm about to shake my head when she grabs me by the elbow. And half dragging me onto the dance floor, she manages to fix me among the rowdy crowd. Once there, I'm more than reluctant to hold her, considering that my confidence has evaporated minutes ago and is too far gone to recover. I look around me, searching for comfort perhaps, and what I find instead is a nonchalant sea of people. Everyone is minding his own business. Inoue, for one, who is looking like a million bucks in a periwinkle dress, is too busy sharing unintelligible sentences with Kira to give a serious glance at anything or anyone besides. Renji and Rukia are having too much laughs with Chad and Hanatarou, who are being equally blissful to take a hint from me. Ishida is currently too absorbed in a conversation with that sophomore chick to look sideways or anywhere. Toushiro seems lost, and attesting to that is the number of times he has missed stuffing bits of food in his mouth as Matsumoto watches him in fascination. Grimmjow and Ulquiorra can't be glimpsed from where I'm standing, owing to the fact that half a dozen female sophomores are circled around them.

So I, determined to profit from this lack of attention, place my hands around her waist.

"I don't know how to do this. Sorry." I tell her.

"It's okay. Anything will do." She assures me, her manner of speech rather mechanical and emotionally distancing.

"Something wrong?"

"Nothing much. But, Kurosaki, I'm a senior now, which means this is going to be my last year in here."

It strikes me as peculiar that she should bestow this much attachment to being a student. Being the immortal that she is, I would have expected farewells are things that she so often gives to the world around her, which is no less temporal than the lives of mortals like us.

"You like it here?"

"Yes, so much."

"Why don't you hang around, then? Get a job here and grow—I mean—_pretend_ to grow old here?"

She smiles bitterly, as if burdened by an unseen weight. In consequence a grave feeling latches on me, persisting to be addressed.

"They have found me."

There's something suspicious about the way she's said it. It didn't feel like she was relating it to me; it felt more like a declaration of defeat, from which she can't escape. I try to look as casual as I can afford.

"They? Who are they?"

As I understand from what her current behavior is evincing, staying here, for her, isn't gonna be that simple because some dudes don't want her to.

"Oh, there's nothing to be done. I'll just enjoy this evening."

Like a flash of insight something is riding towards my remembrance. I remember Ulquiorra speaking of her as though she were a reformed being who had risen out from the depths of a disreputable background. Looking at her now, there seems to remain no vestiges of that past in her. Has it not been for her extraordinary beauty, she would have passed for a human who has not the least irregularity in her.

"If something terrible is going to happen to you, at least tell me even if there's not a thing a human like me can do about it."

This doesn't seem to console her at whatever degree. Nevertheless, she answers,

"Kurosaki-kun, do you know that I want to be a mortal more than anything else?"

Something in me is refusing to believe this forwardness, or otherwise I'm convincing myself that I'm not hearing this from her.

"But you do remember how to live a mortal life, don't you? You do remember how being vulnerable hindered you from achieving many things. I can't imagine why someone would want to trade immortality for a limited lifespan."

"I do remember, though vaguely. What I remember so vividly are the lives I had taken from these vulnerable mortals."

"That may be so, but you're renewed now anyway."

"Renewed, not redeemed."

"That, I agree, is open for arguments. And maybe whatever good you've put up so far hardly even cuts down a bit of your past sins. Maybe I'm not one to talk. But maybe you also deserve to stay here as much as you desire. Don't leave."

"The here and now don't alter or disturb the truth of my past. They don't spare me the guilt and the sorrow. Above all, the dark days are beckoning me. Nothing changes the fact that I'm a sinner, that's why they are hunting me."

"The dark days? Why not leave them behind or lock them away?"

She smiles patiently. "But _they _are after me. The regulators, governors of our kind."

The slow music stops. Neliel bows to me to announce the end of our engagement. Carefully, with unnatural caution, she drifts away from me and traces her steps back to her brothers. I watch her as long as I think necessary for her safety—not that a vampire can't look after herself. Nevertheless, she seems helpless now and vulnerable. The ladies around Ulquiorra and Grimmjow disperse to give way to their sister. I nod at them as a signal of acknowledgement, and slowly I head straight to Renji and the others.

"Dude, you didn't tell me you were one of them lucky bastards who managed to snatch one of the best-looking girls in school." Renji exclaims, to which I give a nod of appreciation.

After the endless exchanges of cordiality, I squeeze my way towards the three's table. Grimmjow and Ulquiorra are looking so far from enjoying this night, and there is precious little mystery about that. This occasion, I'm sure, is neither of any profit nor pleasure to them both.

"I'm guessing you now regret having come here." I tell the two. Grimmjow scowls. Ulquiorra merely nods.

"You're not enjoying yourself either." Grimmjow retorts.

"No questions about that. I wonder whose fault it was that I'm here. In any case, where are Szayel and Stark?"

Ulquiorra, sallow and grim, raises his head and answers, "Szayel can't tolerate too many people gathered in so small a space, such as where we are now. Stark is asleep."

"Oh. We can leave now if you feel like it." I suggest. No, actually it's more than a suggestion; it's an entreaty.

No one answers. A few seconds later I realize they didn't hear me. They're gazing at a distance, stiff and unrelenting, as if nothing in the world can tear their attention away. I assume they're looking at some scene not customary for immortal eyes to behold. But their gazes now are telling a different story. Indeed it seems impossible to continue looking at them without suspecting something.

"Yes. We should leave." Neliel finally announces, rousing from listlessness.

The other two nod, Ttheir expressions starting to resemble disconcertion more and more. Instinctively, I trace the path of their gazes. Some five or more tables away, Kuchiki Byakuya is conversing with three dudes I've never seen in school before. I'm more inclined to presume these three blokes are the source of the Aizens' recent unbecoming behavior.

"Is there a problem?" I inquire.

"I'll go fetch the car. I'll see you at the drop-off." Ulquiorra volunteers before wending himself out, ignoring us dead-on.

"Seems like it. We're off here." Grimmjow answers me. I follow him and Neliel to the exit without bidding anyone farewell.

Ulquiorra, fast as he is, is already parked at the driveway outside the lobby. Neliel takes the passenger seat while Grimmjow opens the backdoor, gesturing at me to get my ass inside. I'm not bothering to ask what's behind the haste nor would I expect an immediate response if I did ask. I prop my elbow against the window and cup my chin, my face constituting a day's worth of disinterest, as I wait for any of them to phrase a damn word—all to little avail. There's pretty much no need to mention that I can't handle being around these three for so long in quietude, at least not with grace.

"Care to tell me where we're going?"

"Home." Grimmjow answers.

"This isn't the way to my house."

"We're going to our house; it's nearer." Neliel answers.

Their house. Under the same roof. My expression alone can pretty much explain how much I want to roll out the car at this moment. I flick a glance at Grimmjow, who looks away, promptly avoiding my eyes. I am tempted to voice out a protest which will speak out my desire to get the vehicle pulled over, in which case I can stalk off right now one way or another. But before my conviction solidifies entirely, Ulquiorra begins,

"Kurosaki, we are sorry for the inconvenience. It's just that something altogether unprecedented has taken place there."

"Yeah, I could've determined that while half-asleep. Who were those dudes, anyway?"

"You saw them too?" Neliel asks.

"Yeah. You three were looking straight into them, mystified but wary. I only had to follow your gazes to locate the origin of your disturbance. I had never seen them around at school before. And they didn't look much of students either. Were they vampires?"

In every inch all three of them stiffen, their appearance commanding respect at all angles. I almost cower away, mentally rummaging for a pair of words that might pass for an apology, without having to know what it is that I should be apologizing for.

"Those three and Kuchiki Byakuya, your English professor, are Dampeals." Ulquiorra's voice pierces through the ugly silence.

"What?"

"Dampeals. They are half vampires." Ulquiorra explains, examining my reaction through the rearview mirror, with eyes so imposing and so forward with what they wish to communicate.

"And what do these guys want from you? If they are indeed after you?"

"We have not enough proof to render that affirmative. For all we know, they're probably pursuing someone or something else. Whichever the case is, we need to report this to Father immediately." Ulquiorra remarks.

"But there is NO reason for them to hunt your family down, is there?"

"Me." Neliel pipes up. She breaks into silence for a while, grave and pensive once more, as the road ahead meanders to pointless curves. In time she adds "These people, creatures, whatever they are, know everything about us. They are like the police of the underworld. They act as monitors that stalk us like omniscient eyes, because we _can_ be villains."

"You're not! You don't even drink from humans anymore!"

"But we used to. They have looked for me for decades. Now they have found me. And Father has been protecting me from them all these years." Neliel mutters.

"Sheesh, cut it, Neliel, and try to use your head, will ya? We're not even sure what business these bastards are here for. Besides, if they were indeed combing the globe for you, why didn't that Byakuya bloke rat on you during the first time he met us? He could've alerted his half vampire henchmen right from the start. And to think we have been running around under his nose for what, three years now?" Grimmjow snaps, irritation teeming in his voice.

"You must be forgetting, Jack, that Byakuya-san serves no one. He is not of the Order." Ulquiorra intervenes, the firmness in his manner conspicuous.

"Oh yeah? So how do you explain why he moved in here in the same year _we_ moved into town? Isn't that because he is the one assigned to monitor us?"

"Coincidence."

"Really now, genius, I don't think so. Don't you think it's a little too convenient of a coincidence for them Dampeals? A family of vampire moves into town. Two of them are ancients. One is formerly a voracious eater who used to go on a rampage upon the sight of a fat human neck. One of them is so unnaturally strong he can snap a hundred human spines as if they're but one. One is a bastard. One is a handsome, dashing prick. And the last one is a youngling who needs supervision 24/7. And then all of a sudden, Mr. Mighty Dampeal Byakuya lands into town. Byakuya is with them, but they're not after us."

"Indeed, your reasoning is sound in some aspects. On the whole, however, it's thoroughly lacking its due justification. What the plain facts suggest is, Byakuya-san hasn't been making contact with the Order all along. What that brings to mind is that he never had interest in our kind or in the family. That is because he has no role in whatever decree the Order is sending forth among its numbers. But looking at the entirety of what we have just witnessed tonight, three Dampeals have caught us unawares by gate-crashing into the School Dance. Did you seriously think they were just there to rekindle old friendships with a lone Dampeal such as Byakuya Kuchiki? I think not. I think, with good reason, they're keeping their eyes on us and along the way they ran into one of their kind, Byakuya-san."

"And why, pray tell, did they choose the Dance night to observe us, and overtly at that?"

"Because everything would be in disarray, they thought, what with the unpleasant music, loose security, the wild revelry. Really, Jack, I had expected more from you. Turned out I was expecting way above too much."

"Whoever asked your opinion, prick? And if you so strongly think they're here to arrest us, why are your knees prattling like shit? Scared of _Halflings_? And what's worse is that you seriously believe that running away is the best solution to this mess. To tally, if you had been paying much attention to what's being rubbed in your face, you'd realize that it's like this: three vampires are scampering away from three dampeals. Wow, Scheiffer, that's pure genius—"

"—knock it off, Jesus. Is there really a damn need to resort to high notes?" I snip through. My sudden comment serves as a reprieve, which later on turns into an unadulterated silence. In turn, this is not the effect I would've desired. At any rate, I pursue, "These Dampeals—judging from your demeanor, there appears to be some sort of notoriety encroached in their very name. Having said that, there's still a handful here I can't quite understand. How does someone become a half vampire and not a full-blown one?"

Ulquiorra and Neliel exchange glances of marked caution, so alike in their execution that I'm sure they only differ in degree. Grimmjow, on the other hand, is watching the scenery stream past us, almost too rapt in it to give me heed, or otherwise he's pretending not to hear. Ulquiorra is watching me through the mirror, obviously taking so seriously what he probably considers as a question he's obligated to answer. He speaks,

"Vampires are not capable of producing offspring, which goes to say we become entirely sterile within hours of infection—that is, receiving the Accursed Gift. It is death, after all. However, if a female human bearing a child receives the Accursed Gift, there's a good chance that her child will turn out a Halfling, a Dampeal, should it survive."

**TBC**


	22. Nemesis

**Chapter XXII: Nemesis**

I expected my first School Dance was gonna be a disaster. I've always known I wouldn't go beyond sitting with a girl and chatting with her every once in awhile. I knew I wouldn't be able to stand seeing through it to the end or until all the lights went out. What I failed to foretell, however, was the scale of unpredictability it would be subjected to. As such, this ignorance is excusable, I think, because no one told me I was to be plunked in with three vampires anyway.

"Is that even possible? Yeah, spook books can be misleading, but there has to be some basis on why your kind also goes by the name 'Undead'. Like, you're anatomically dead, aren't you? Biologically speaking, your systems kinda defy the laws of science. So how can a woman who becomes a vampire during pregnancy be capable of bearing a child that breathes?"

One more decibel is all it's gonna take to get me classified into the hysterical category. Neliel is staring at me, not in any way looking offended but rather with courteous apprehension. She must have mistaken me for a more innocent person.

"It's just as it is or a great deal more complicated, nothing less. Maybe it's explainable by science, maybe not. Whichever is the case, nothing changes the fact that Dampeals are roaming the Earth." She tells me.

This mind, of so limited an understanding, is on the brink of giving up on all reason, and I'm really in no condition to digest any more of this. I'm thinking of Rukia and am trying to reconcile the idea of Dampeals with her.

"Rukia, my friend, she is Kuchiki-sensei's little sister. It must follow that she is of the same breed. Is there a way of distinguishing Dampeals from humans or Dampeals from vampires?"

Grimmjow snorts. He makes a derisive sort of laugh and shakes his head from what seems to him a very amusing question. He speaks,

"The difference is that they're half-breeds while we're the real thing, making us twice as strong, fast, and enduring as they are. Not to mention twice as good-looking."

Ulquiorra abandons his gaze on the road and turns to look at his brother reprovingly before commenting,

"I wouldn't completely agree with you on that one."

"And why is that, Einstein?"

"Because Kuchiki Byakuya exists."

"He's a rare exception, I must admit. That given, we might as well not count that bloke in because ya don't see a lot of Kuchiki Byakuya dudes around, do ya?"

Ulquiorra sighs, perhaps implying how little Grimmjow knows. He turns to me.

"From a vampire's vision, one can easily single out a Dampeal from a crowd of a thousand. Their blood strongly reeks of metal. Henceforth it is safe to assume that your friend, Rukia, is not one of them; I can assure you that much. I've a strong feeling she's adopted. Also, there is a remarked refinement in the way their motions are carried out, as if they can't prevent it. My best guess is, there is this internal battle in their souls or bodies between their supernatural aspects and human nature." At this point, Ulquiorra pauses as though groping for memories in the unknown regions of his mind. He continues upon noticing I'm hanging to every word he says, "Theoretically speaking, half-bloods like them are only half as strong as purebloods like us. But hearken; in many occasions, nature has exceeded all reasonable bounds to reveal certain deviations. There are some among them who are strong beyond measure. Those three we saw tonight are clearly no ordinary Dampeals. If only Szayel were here, he'd tell us, with absurd preciseness, how far they rise above other people of their kind. The world is full of wonders, Kurosaki."

Through the mirror, he buries his gaze into mine, perhaps to implore me to believe there's nothing to fear. He's reading the wrong signals, though. I'm not scared. Shortly after, Grimmjow rolls his eyes before speaking,

"The truth you don't know is, they're a bunch of meddling bastards who passionately believe they're responsible for maintaining world peace and shit of that sort. Yeah, some of them are strong, but that doesn't mean they're no bastards."

Neliel is suppressing laughter.

Ulquiorra merely shakes his head, "With great power comes great responsibility. You do remember what father told us, Grimmjow; that they're not simply strutting around; they're trying to restore order to this world. I can hardly guess how something like that renders them bastards."

"And why isn't that task assigned to us, then? When power is all it requires?" Grimmjow demands. All things considered, I can't see how a debate like this will end up sorted in a proper manner, nor can I think of a way to make them control their temper. Despite this heated conversation, there is still much room for silence in between.

"Really now, brother, don't tell me you don't know the answer to that. When the likes of us acquire this power, we are given a choice of how we may wish to employ it. We can live in peace and never lay hands on humans or thrive in chaos and wreak havoc among the living. It all depends on our preference. We can destroy our bodies to get rid of the curse and spare the world of whatever evil may arise from our power. We are given the choice, to live a vampire life or its alternative—to cease to exist. Dampeals, however, are born Dampeals. There is no choice for them from the start. So they strive to attain the image of the good, if only to fill their place in this world."

Grimmjow is scowling in a very obtuse manner. Having decided he's been civil and nice long enough, he spits out,

"Oh, so they're the nice guys and we're the villains? Frankly, Scheiffer, I seriously can't begin to understand why you'd buy bullcrap of that sort—"

"—Oh, we're here." Neliel chimes in merrily. I have good reason to believe that preventing the impending verbal onslaught between the two makes up the largest percentage of her purpose to announce this. We have indeed arrived at their house. Grimmjow remains silent long enough to make me realize he has lost interest in resuming the rest of his remark. Ulquiorra is just as silent.

We relieve the car of our weight and pelt towards the front door. Upon touching the doorknob, Ulquiorra freezes. Grimmjow grunts upon seeing no reason in deferring our entrance. Making a rash movement, he pushes his brother aside, with enough force to dislocate a human shoulder, without as much as wondering what could have occasioned Ulquiorra the need to act like that.

"They're here." Ulquiorra announces.

"What the—" Grimmjow stops.

"What?" Neliel and I ask in unison.

"The bastards." Grimmjow answers, his hand still around the doorknob. "I can smell them from Father's drawing room."

"I can see them." Ulquiorra adds.

"I told you so. They're looking for me." Neliel says, looking as crestfallen as she was several minutes ago.

"What should we do?" I ask. I can't exactly tell what my sentiments are demanding, except that I want to go home and be rid of this predicament. I mean, looking back, I've been lately finding myself wedged between trials I didn't play roles in. So maybe this time, it's only fair for me to just turn around and head the other way.

"We're going in. It doesn't look like Father's in a fix with them." Ulquiorra suggests. Surprisingly, his two siblings nod in agreement.

"Yeah, come inside, Kurosaki." Neliel offers me.

Feeling utterly at the mercy of their hospitality and thoroughly unable to phrase out a decent objection, I let myself be dragged in with a frown.

I can hear voices from beyond the living room. There appears to be a serious discussion being conducted in the adjacent area. The voices die down; perhaps their owners have detected our entrance. One second later Dr. Aizen pops out of the drawing room with a cordial air about him.

"Oh, the kids are here, and Kurosaki-kun too. Did you have fun tonight?" He asks, his address sounding as though it has no definite direction whatsoever.

"Yes, sir." I answer, and, upon learning I was the only one who took the impulse to answer, feel a shock of mild embarrassment extol on me.

"What do they want, Father?" Ulquiorra finally asks.

Dr. Aizen frowns. With no other purpose than to avoid taking part in this, I take a step back so as not to hear what he has to say. My travel backwards reaches an end when I bump on Grimmjow, who, beyond all manner of doubt, is awaiting his father's reply despite his attempts to keep his curiosity and anxiety under surface. I mumble a faint 'sorry', to which he doesn't give any acknowledgement. Slowly, I feel his palm trek the expanse of my back.

"Inspection." Dr. Aizen answers.

"So they think they can just walk the fuck in here—"

"Hush, Jack, I'm taking care of this. Why don't you two head upstairs and try to entertain Kurosaki-kun? Neliel, come with me, dear."

Ulquiorra, streaked with alarm, canters a step forward, perhaps to call for a better explanation. Grimmjow doesn't move, though any moron with half a brain can tell he's sharing a similar opinion.

"What do they want with her?" Ulquiorra asks firmly.

"Your sister will be fine. Will you trust me with this, son?"

No one answers. Neliel is staring at the floor. As it is, Dr. Aizen accepts our silence as a form of affirmation, which he repays with a final nod. He swings around, followed by his daughter, his composure never losing its reticence. When they have gone, Grimmjow sighs beside me and, upon seeing nothing more can be gained by standing here longer, presses his hand against my back to lead me to the staircase. My feet, as if conquered by a singular command, are being led to where he's pushing me to.

"Jack, get your hand off Kurosaki." Ulquiorra says.

"What did you say, prick?"

"He can climb the stairs on his own, so there is absolutely no need to guide him with your arms."

Grimmjow removes his palm from me before tucking both his fists in his pockets. He fixes his gaze on his brother, more or less spelling a bloody rematch, after which a smirk wipes off the blankness in his face.

"As you wish." He says, and continues his ascent.

Upon reaching the family hall upstairs, a benumbed silence assails us. When the silence has grown larger than what's required of the situation, Grimmjow, with waning tolerance, resolves that this sort of inactivity doesn't suit him very well. He plugs in the Playstation 3 and begins playing Devil May Cry 4, his fingers vigorously mashing the buttons. Ulquiorra sits beside me, an increasing sense of ambiguity clouding about him. In time, he speaks,

"Jack, do you hear what they're saying?"

Grimmjow pauses the game, throws a fatal scowl at his brother, and answers, "For the last time, Scheiffer, my power doesn't work on Dampeals."

"I would've expected you had enough sense in you to _try_ to hear."

"I can't, dammit. How the fuck can you manage _not_ to know that after all the years of living with me under the same fucking roof—"

"—I can see fragments of the scene downstairs, courtesy of my efforts in trying to glimpse them. I'm sure your power would work as well if you relinquished all other thoughts besides—"

"—will you keep your distance from Kurosaki? You're almost sitting on his lap." Grimmjow says, his annoyance getting sizeable by the minute. I clasp my hand against my forehead, with a clear knowledge that what Grimmjow has said is very wide off the mark; Ulquiorra is barely beside me. In fact there's a clean distance of three feet occupying the space between us.

"You must understand, Jack, that this is a matter of great importance and is more than just your coincidental meeting between our kind and our nemesis."

"You must understand, Scheiffer, that there's no way I can understand you or anything that has a shit to do with you. Come to think of it, we don't understand each other; not in the best of times, not in the most critical of situations, not with the most elaborate of explanations; in short, not ever. Now if ya wanna nose around in their business with Father and Nel, be my guest."

It dawns on me that there's much more animosity between them than I have previously thought. Ulquiorra sighs, endeavoring to keep his composure before he opens his mouth. In the exact same second, however, the nearest door bursts open, suspending Ulquiorra's attempts to phrase a word. Szayel, their youngest sibling, appears in the corridor. Grimmjow presses the 'pause' button on the controller for the second time. Szayel speaks,

"Oh, we have lots of guests tonight. And what in hell's deep are you two arguing about this time? Really, with the ruckus you're making, I'm quite surprised to see you still in one piece each."

Grimmjow, tied fast under the shadow of Szayels' presence, no doubt, has assumed a wary posture. Exhibiting hatred that's very likely to lead to violence, he tells his youngest brother,

"Go away, Szayel; it's bad enough without you taking part in this."

Szayel ignores him and sits across me. I watch him, in a tranquil state of awareness that he is perusing me just as intently. I force myself away from further tension by withdrawing my gaze. And then Ulquiorra, mounting up to a vigilant guard, turns to Szayel,

"Am I to understand that you know what's going on?"

"Not all of it, I'm afraid. Beyond understanding that three Dampeals are under the same shelter with us I have nothing more to offer."

Ulquiorra nods. Grimmjow resumes his game, his air of not caring growing more authentic than it truly is, or so it seems.

Interestingly, Ulquiorra appears to be permanently bothered by the alien presences in the house other than mine. He pursues the subject, with no better strategy in hiding his concern than what he has been showing for the last ten minutes,

"How many are there?"

Szayel adjusts his reading glasses, which, I think, serve no other purpose than their contribution to the visual showcase that he is. He answers,

"Within one hundred kilometers of radial vicinity, _excluding_ Byakuya Kuchiki, there are six—no—seven. And there is one—no—two of them, so old and powerful they can destroy us in an instant."

Upon hearing this, Grimmjow drops the controller on the floor, giving it more impact than its natural fall had it been influenced by gravity alone. Getting to the point quicker than what ample thinking may have exacted, he snarls,

"Don't be a prat, Szayel. Destroy us, you say? As you ought to remember—"

His vehement reaction is intercepted by their mother's sudden appearance. She must have sprouted from the ground or materialized out of thin air, otherwise my vision is just as bad as anything else. She announces, permitting no repose,

"Jack, darling, I need you to come downstairs with me."

Grimmjow looks around, perhaps hoping that complete enlightenment will make its way to him without the trouble of wasting more spit. After determining that it's his turn to speak, he asks,

"Me? Are those bastards asking for me?"

"Language, son. At any rate, come now, and no worries; there's no harm in it, I swear."

No one seems to think she's supplying enough assurance. As such, Grimmjow answers,

"Can't it wait, Mother?"

"It can't. Why must you demonstrate that which can't be otherwise? Come now, please."

Grimmjow, with much agitation but with hardly any resort to force, chucks the controller at me and stands up. He sweeps past us and pauses beside Szayel. Inadvertently, he warns,

"Try to pull anything funny on Kurosaki and you know where to find yourself afterwards, that's a warning."

"Too bad for me, then." Szayel answers.

Grimmjow follows Halibel down the set of stairs. Ulquiorra and Szayel are exchanging surreptitious glances.

"Do you think brother and sister are gonna be okay?" Szayel breaks the silence, his tone more amused than concerned.

"Let's hope for that." Ulquiorra says.

**TBC**


	23. Vampire Hunter

**Chapter XXIII: Vampire Hunter**

I've come to know instantly that, for better or for worse, I have to reserve myself for better occasions than this. Among other things, I could be spending this night downloading long-forgotten songs or hitting the high score in Guitar Hero III on Expert Mode. But instead, fucking instead, heaven, or whatever providence is guiding the course of things, ordains otherwise. And the fact that I have in my hands a Playstation 3 controller doesn't quite dispel the sounds reaching my ears. Ulquiorra and Szayel might as well be speaking in a different language. I try, with effort, to pick up from where Grimmjow took off in his game. At length the two's lowered voices have pretty much succeeded in telling me what role I'm playing in here: nothing. So having decided that my presence here is far from being useful, I rise to my feet as inadvertently as my legs and gracefulness have ever given promise of. In the same swift second, Ulquiorra stands up too in such a haste which suggests something alarming has shot in from nowhere.

"Is something wrong, Kurosaki?" he asks.

"Nothing. Hey, thanks for the game and the ride, but I really need to bounce. Goodnight, Szayel." With a slight nod at the two, I turn around to commence my exit.

Of course, as nothing less than extraordinary frequently takes place under this roof, Ulquiorra is not just to let things fall into places in the right manner. He cuts in before me with a look which seems to meet no contest.

"Please stay for a little while."

"Can't because I'm starving and I'm pretty sure your house is suffering from odd deficiencies such as… food. Sorry."

"I'll drive you to a fast-food, and then we'll get your dinner there."

"Just how many times do I have to hint that I can go on fine at nighttime? And besides, shouldn't you be concerning yourself with more important matters, such as that two of your siblings might be in trouble? I can get my ass home unscathed, I assure you."

Szayel has his fingers rubbing his chin, and with the way his lips are curling, one may suggest something very exciting is happening or expected. Ulquiorra, on the other hand, is stretching the silence to more than its customary length. He opens his mouth,

"Please let me—"

"—brother, I understand how the events tonight have unsettled you but, also keep in mind that as of yet, Kurosaki-san here is exposed to no danger—even as Dampeals have gathered in this land." Szayel answers for me.

The matter appears like everything other than settled, at least for Ulquiorra. He inches in closer, and he's so near now that there's hardly a foot between him and me. I stuff my fists in my pockets to somehow authenticate further the resoluteness of my mind.

"He's right. That being established, please don't stalk me on my way home." I tell Ulquiorra. In obvious ways, he does not agree with anything that has been said just as much as he has shown straightaway, for no sooner than I sidestep him does he say,

"You will do me the justice of bearing in mind that I'm only consenting because you so require me to. Even so, for the last time, I'm asking you to stay." He pleads with a strange intonation. In consequence, I find myself staring blankly at him, wondering what sort of danger would be posed for me should I plunge head-on to the darkness ahead. Maybe I'm also trying to guess what mental deficiency he's temporarily suffering from. Like, hell, I'm fucking sixteen years of age, dammit, and a man, so if walking alone on streets at eight in the evening were equivalent to some exposure to danger from which only a vampire could have protected me then why the fuck am I still alive?

"Ulquiorra, dude, do me a favor and try not to let your imagination run rampant like damn paranoia. Goodnight."

This time I succeed in eluding him. I sprint my way downstairs, keeping my composure abreast, towards the front door which now seems almost inaccessible. If anything, I'd like to see a Dampeal up close, and the presence of three of which in the next room is rather too tempting at this point…

In time, I manage to pitch myself on the well-lit streets, never realizing and bothering to analyze why Ulquiorra has acted so steadfastly in wanting to keep me within his presence.

...

The semester-ending School Dance has come and gone like any other date on the calendar. To be clear, the students are given a two-week vacation before the next term starts. Since it has been a week after the eventful night, I have only now a week before me to get my grand slacking to completion. It also has been a week since I last heard from any of the Aizens. As such, this rare occasion is providing me ample time to settle accounts with things I have for quite a while now been neglecting— visiting the arcade, for instance. Maybe not, because here is Rukia, treading under the bright sky alone. My heart starts to conduct a faint pulsation for reasons which only have been lately revealed to me.

"Oi, Rukia!" I holler after her, to which she turns around congenially, perhaps recognizing the voice.

"Yoh, Ichigo. Are you out alone?"

"Yeah. And you?"

"Yes. I'd like to pick up something from the department store. Would you tag along?"

"Sure." I agree.

I'm beginning to expect that this meeting is to serve something more than social comfort. I do hope, not without valid reasons, that some light will be thrown upon that which I do not know and wish to know about his brother, Kuchiki Byakuya. With that in mind, I toddle along behind her.

It feels as though centuries are passing between heartbeats, for the more stalls we visit my opportunities to ask seem to grow vaguer. Thankfully, after displaying quite an amount of my ability, or lack thereof, in assisting her with her task, she finally decides that it's time to grab a bite. Only that it's not gonna be that easy.

"It kinda surprises me that neither of the two Aizens is with you today." She starts, and if I hadn't been paying enough attention I would have conveniently missed her sarcasm.

I force a laugh. "Surprising isn't it?"

She continues to eat her cheeseburger, never failing to cast cursory glances at me, which immediately arrest my comfort. In time she speaks again, "Ichigo, I've been meaning to tell you…"

"What?" I ask.

"You—well, you never take me seriously."

I strain my gaze at her, perhaps determining if she really did say that.

"How can you say that, Rukia?"

She leans back from the table, her uneasiness marked by the intervals in her chewing. I study her carefully, and as I fail to find out if her discomfort is real or only assumed, she answers,

"Remember the time when I went so straightforward in telling you to stay away from them? Did you for once stop to think about it?"

"Yeah, what about it?"

"You didn't follow my advice, obviously. How do you feel now, Ichigo, about getting too near them?"

With this remark, I have now every possible confidence that she knows more than I initially thought she knew. Hitherto I start to conclude that not even being in a public place, where our conversation is very likely to get overheard, can make her lose her conviction to speak out.

"Quite apart from your advice, I have resolved not to avoid them. In fact, I am glad that I made the resolution and am even gladder that I kept it. I'm sorry. Furthermore, I'd like to hear from you the exact reason why you hold them so far away from your favor. So will you tell me now?"

I must have asked for something she can't give but wants to, or that's the closest semblance I can credit her with. But the pause seems interminable, though lasting only for a few seconds. Finally,

"Why should I? You're the one who knows them more than anyone else does, so what use would there be in telling you what I know?"

"What do you know?"

"You tell me." she challenges. Women can sometimes be difficult. A sudden gloom spreads over her, but there's this sternness in her that's warning me to be extra careful of the next thing I'll say.

I take a deep sigh, my patience beginning to recede, before I answer,

"The most obvious thing I know for the moment is, you, in particular, shouldn't be disturbed by other people's family secrets, considering what your brother _is_. Yeah, I know all about it, and so do you, so maybe we should quit beating around the bush at this rate and try for once to be completely honest."

This doesn't seem to add anything to her alarm. In fact, looking closely, it appears as though she's known all along where this conversation is leading to.

"So they told you, didn't they? And I suppose your taking off too early from the School Dance taught you a lot of things."

"Just who were those Dampeals? But more importantly, what were they doing in a most peaceful town?" I ask rather vehemently, with my regret only being that I didn't ask this sooner.

"Calm down. As far as things are going, they haven't done anything oppressive or anything near unjust against the Aizens. They're good people. I know not what their chief reason is in coming to this town, for although my brother is as much of a Dampeal as they are, he is not a part of their circle. Yeah, It's true that he receives full confidence and precious information from them, but he seldom operates on their behalf. If anything, it's all just a matter of the intersection of interests among him and his kind. Just this: All I know is, they're moving, making preparations for something big and grave; brother wouldn't tell me more than the preliminaries."

"But what do they want with Grimmjow and Nel-san?" I ask, the urgency in my voice uncontainable.

She shakes her head in earnest. "Your guess is as good as mine."

"But aren't they like the police who purge this world of impurities? Shouldn't it follow that they've come to arrest members of the Aizen family?"

Her lips betray her, or my eyes are deceiving me. Some sort of a grim smile replaces her former expression.

"May I ask if there's any reason for Grimmjow-san and Neliel-san to get arrested? Being a vampire doesn't count as an offense, mind you."

I have to yield to this, lest I miss out on more information. I mutter,

"Both used to get murder done as easily as my dad can get his hands on a scalpel."

"If that's the case, then there is indeed a good reason for the Dampeals to knock them out for punishment but, from what I've heard from brother and three of them, they were attempting to seal a deal with Dr Aizen himself."

A relief passes over me, making me mildly embarrassed by my recent misbehavior.

"S—so they're safe? Grimmjow and Neliel-san?"

"I can attest to that."

"…"

"Happy now?"

I nod at her. By the second my awkward disposition is becoming less and less plain. Slowly I open my mouth,

"Rukia, are Vampires in any way a hindrance to the Dampeals' campaign for the distribution of the good? Are these two races two opposing tides? Nemeses or archrivals, are these what they are?"

She starts to laugh, the mirth in her face incontestable, and I just watch her while she's at it.

"Why are you so concerned about the Vampires' welfare?"

I have to give her credit for taking all this too lightly. Having been made aware that praising her won't amount to much, I shoot a chance at what I construe as well-chosen words,

"I'm concerned about the humans' welfare, ours, not theirs or any of them immortals, dammit. So if something big is going down, I suppose I should take part in it if I knew a thing or two."

"Whatever you say."

I roll my eyes.

"So what are they?"

"I'll try not to laugh. Here goes—from what I've been educated with, they're nothing like that. If you paid attention to the basic facts here, you'd remember that Dampeals are half Vampires. Hence, what little difference there is that separates these two races is not entirely unbridgeable."

"Yeah, I know that, but there has to be a bad apple among them. I mean, they can practically do anything they wish to do, given their strength, and what with the temptations the world has to offer, evil might as well be legal for these two races. There are just too many potential complications in their very existence, you know."

She folds her arms across her chest, assuming a solemn air, and with the sudden seriousness in her face I can fancy that I can hear her heart beating.

"Only this: there are villains out there, monsters who far exceed whatever wonders the Aizens and Dampeals like my brother are capable of. Somewhere in the heart of Europe, over the snowy regions, there is an abyss rumored to be the dwelling place of a very strong and very evil Vampire. And this Vampire, whom others of his kind fear above all, has awakened from his long slumber. Otherwise, all this is just a product of some lunatic's imagination. Nevertheless, the Dampeals are moving."

The account, legend or truth, seems thrilling, yet repulsive all the same.

"And should the Dampeals act alone? Are they strong enough, if all you have said is no fiction?"

She heaves a sigh. "Who knows? Some of them are bound to the grave anyway."

"Don't you care?"

"Don't make a mistake; I _do_ care, because brother is everything to me, but caring and sympathy can't alter facts; they only make them more bearable."

We remain quiet until my tolerance marks the extent of the silence.

"Then if some impending doom is coming over these non-human creatures with the awakening of that monster it would be a significant accomplishment for the Dampeals if they managed to get Dr Aizen and his family on their side…"

"Yes, exactly what I have in mind."

"D—d'you think he—Dr Aizen— will choose your brother's side rather than his kin?"

Rukia looks away, as if not answering right away might give way to a better response. After quite a number of seconds I hear her,

"Maybe you're the one who can find out the answer to that question; not me or anyone else."

**TBC**

A/N: honestly, I'm down to the last strip of ideas. I don't particularly like what's happened in Bleach chapters 353 and 354, which makes continuing this shit harder than I though it would be. I mean, I still regard Kishimoto as a genius after all this, but I'm so hating him at the moment. :(


	24. Doom

**Chapter XXIV: Doom**

Looking back, it has only been a few days since Rukia revealed to me all the things she knew. I've come to know that a number of dampeals' days are numbered, vulnerable as they are.

"_Dampeals, it must be a privilege to walk among them, to harvest honor beside them and to get the best of both worlds, living and dead. Unlike vampires, they act in accordance with law and order, completely civilized and human, and their flesh does not pine for human blood. But unlike humans, their bodies require very little food, water, and sleep and their youth only deteriorates if they bow out of life entirely and voluntarily. And now they are setting their wheels in motion to balance harmony in this world." _- This is what Rukia told me before we parted that day.

So I'm jotting all my thoughts down in a private blog, whose access is granted only to… me. See, making all these public would surely just tally with me being crazy, exactly. And I'm a boy—

_Tap, tap, tap._

The familiar sound alerts me of an awaited visit. With nightmare slowness I rise from my chair and allow the sound to linger longer than necessary. It creeps on my ears, in twos and threes and in larger numbers, to thrive there—not without its own charm.

I fling my window open to come face to face with Ulquiorra.

"Good evening, Kurosaki. Are you busy tonight?"

"Get in, before anything else." I tell him.

He hauls his weight inside, his aspect diffusing quite an abundance of restlessness, though his dark splendor dominates most things in his appearance. He sinks on the foot of my bed, seeming hardly conscious of his aim, whatever it is. He starts,

"I'm very grieved to have met you at this age where all hell is to break loose from the ground. I think the best way to introduce the details to you is—"

"—save your breath, Ulquiorra. There's only one thing I want to hear, and you will tell me soon enough."

He blinks, highlighting his confusion, "What is it?"

"The Dampeals—are you and your family with them or against them?"

His brow quivers under my question, which is received in seconds of silence. Slowly and with visible difficulty he says,

"Yes, if that's what you wish to hear. Father has pledged to assist them in dragging Gin to the depths of hell, even if he takes his life with him."

"I'm guessing Gin is this one they call Mighty Dweller of the Deep. I'm sure overthrowing him would be the end of many lives, and it's already etched in stone that the task would be paid with blood. Is there anything more you want to add?"

He starts to eye me intently, and even before he speaks a critical tone is already on his lips,

"For a start, I will not ask how you managed to know so much without our help. Listen, Kurosaki Ichigo, do you not love me?"

This, I think, is a type of conversation that conveys little to a normal listener. But this is a question I can grasp in its fullness, and all the things my answer may result to I can distantly see. He makes a slight movement to perhaps enthuse me into a subtle recognition of his presence here.

"Y—you—why must you make this harder than it already is?"

"Believe me, I'm not trying to complicate things; I just need to know, because if not—if not…"

"What?"

"I'll be going away."

Despite the obvious reluctance in his voice, his other mannerisms run smooth and not thwarted. To be honest, I've always known this was something I'd be hearing in no time. The best I can do for the meantime is to wait and let the whole emphasis in the passage to disappear, to be forgotten, even in knowing not a century would've cut the job.

"W—why?"

"As you have already been informed, something grave is upon us. Furthermore, my kind has responsibilities, Kurosaki, and I can't involve you with them, for my greatest fear is to lose you. I—I never thought I'd be faced with this choice… do you want to know why I so much wanted you to stay the night in our house on the Dance Night?"

"Now that you've mentioned it, I think I need you to tell me."

"Because I was sure they were going to take Jack and Nel away the next day. That could've possibly been the last time you'd see Jack, whom you seem to…"

"Are Grimmjow and Nel-san—"

"—They are at home. The Dampeals who visited last week were messengers from their higher ups. They were scouting for allies, and they chose Jack and Nel to be sent for the advance team, which will be in charge with the investigation in Transylvania."

"Why were they the ones chosen? Shouldn't it have been your father or mother?"

"Jack and Nel have appalling records under their names; they have killed humans before and on more occasions than one there was often no remorse on their part. Nothing can remedy that but, to make the best amends in justice's name, they are asked to receive penance, which they will perform by participating in this dreadful ordeal."

My shoulders are dropping low under some unseen weight, so much that it's all too clear I'm under no special dispensation of confidence or anything that might save me from appearing weak and defenseless—powerless—, so laying aside pretenses and disguises, I ask,

"S—so they're going? Just—just where is Grimmjow? Why the fuck hasn't he paid me a damn visit after all this shit?"

Ulquiorra remains composed, perhaps adapting himself to the untouched expanse of the world around him. He studies me, as if ruminating on more than what his eyes can see. In return, I look away, unable to meet the naked honesty in his gaze.

"They're not going; Father is going in their stead, for he is more proficient in just about everything, and it's more practical, all things considered, if the true goal of this assignment is to discover more about Gin rather than to punish the two for earlier misdeeds. So Hisagi consented—that's the name of the Dampeals' head messenger."

I keep my silence, its effect unavailing until too late. Ulquiorra stands up without hinting on his next action whatsoever, and for someone who has arrived to bring a bad news he is behaving too loosely on behalf of it.

"Has Dr Aizen departed already?"

"Yes, he's been gone for twelve days now and has tendered his resignation from the hospital. We have received no news from him since-not a word. Mother packed her bags six days prior to go after him. Do you wish to see Grimmjow now? I can take you to my house now."

"N—no, thanks. I just wanted to know if he's…"

"Look, sooner or later we—vampires—will be hurrying to our doom. We've been given an instruction by Father that if we do not hear from him in the span of one month we just have to take it for granted that he is simply too occupied to send us word. He assured us there would rest assuredly be nothing to upset ourselves about, so there'd be no need to follow him down. But that's no different from demanding indifference from us, and we can't give him that. What I'm saying is—"

"—W—will you go, too? You and Grimmjow and the others? Do you need to?"

"I think and believe we are a part of this one great design, from which we cannot escape. Yes, I will go, come glory or damnation, come death or redemption."

I glance at him searchingly, inaccessible though he seems to me, trying to bear in mind the entirety of everything he's said. In doing this, I can't repress a shudder. He seems colorless now, and to know him in connection with a creature that cannot die by mere passing of time, the sight of him alone is enough to introduce me to this dreamy fear.

"Don't go, Ulquiorra."

"I'm only here to inform you of this impending doom. It can be too difficult to hear, and maybe harder still is to accept so intact a concrete truth, but I know, with all my faculties combined, that I have to tell you this for your sake, if for no other reason."

"If you need to be told, well, you can _die _out there. Like, for real."

"Nothing will stop this, or me for that matter."

"Didn't your father tell you to damn stay put? Give me one good reason why you should pretend to be this noble—I swear I'll listen."

He looks away, and with that I can from old knowledge detect that he's finding me tedious.

"I have no reason to pretend I'm something I'm not. I suppose this is not a good time. Goodnight, Kurosaki."

This has just about given me equal reason for anger.

"Fucking fine."

He nods at me and turns to leave. As he flits away I'm slowly becoming aware that my life will reach its last turn before he realizes or admits he's the one who acted quite the same as a fucking prick; not me. And then he really has gone.

If anyone can just splash a pail of cold water over my head I grant it here and now. With a little reevaluation, I've been made thoroughly convinced that I can have use in showing myself less insane in the future. Yeah. As a result of this train of thought, I traipse my way downstairs and not I minute later I'm knocking on my dad's bedroom.

"Hey, dad, are you in there?"

"I'm asleep." I hear him answer from beyond the door.

"Well then, I'm sure you wouldn't mind if I borrowed your car keys for awhile."

I hear the rough sound of pieces of furniture being toppled over by hurried movements. Without surprises, he pries the door open.

"And where on Earth do you intend to go at this time of the night, son? I hope you have a better explanation than the word 'out'."

Wow, since when did leniency and this man split?

"Dr Aizen's place. Besides, it's only 7:30 and their house is twenty minutes from here. I need to borrow something from Ulquiorra."

He eyes me from head to foot, gives a low grunt, and cracks a smile. "Well, don't go over sixty on the speedometer, son."

"Thanks, dad."

In what seemed like five seconds I've managed to clinch myself into my dad's suburban to head where much of my dignity would be risked. To be clear, I had my student's driver's license before we moved in town, and, knowing that dad was never someone who'd give a shit about formalities, I have in many events succeeded in convincing him to let me drive. Today doesn't prove to be an inconsistency in his loosely grounded principle.

On the road, shadows strip past me, and what little light the street lamps are providing only sends scant impression in the gloom. I maybe am hurrying to a disaster. Scarcely a minute has passed when a swift-moving shadow catches on par with my speed. If I hadn't been already acquainted with vampires before I would've crapped my pants here and now. With what quickness my instincts can provide, I pull over abruptly before rolling down the window. Ulquiorra halts beside the car.

"What do you think you're doing, Kurosaki?" he asks, his expression dull and indicative of no emotion.

"What the hell does it look like? I'm chasing after the ingrate who walked the fuck right the hell off me in the middle of my speech."

"Do you even have your driver's license?"

"Whether I'm breaking the law or not is my business, dammit. Now get the hell inside before I run you over."

Without a signal of approval or the opposite he heaves himself inside, and also without batting an eye on me he crosses his legs, meanwhile propping his elbow on the window lazily. I shift to first gear to get us moving.

"You know, it would be more convenient for me, and for you for that matter, if I walked myself home." He says.

He stares at the road ahead, but there seems to be no recognition in his watching.

"Oh yeah? How about I—"

"Keep your eye on the road, please."

If he's trying to drive me to harsher measures, well, he's on his way to success at that.

"Fine. You were trying to say something back there. Now tell me before we reach your house." One closer look and one could be sure I'm only certain of one thing; that I'm not certain about any damn thing so far.

"I meant to say I love you. That's all there is to it. Now if there's nothing else you wish to ask of me, please pull over and head back."

My brain relapses to a sudden inactivity. Maybe relief and hesitation at this moment are edging so close to one another that it's hardly possible for me to decide which expression to assume. Maybe being honest is all there is for now. I pull to a gentle halt and shift the gears to neutral, my eyes still on the hood.

"Say it again." I demand.

He removes his palm from his chin and makes a slightly startled movement. I open my mouth, in the hopes of restoring myself to the same esteem I had before I hit the road. He beats me into speaking,

"Which? You should let me off now, Kurosaki; it's getting late."

"Dammit, you know what I'm asking you. Just effing say it, bastard." I hiss through clenched teeth, as if to pine for something that's forbidden and denied me.

He eyes me with caution, and it's my temple that pays the penalty, what with all the sweating and shit. Slowly he answers,

"I love you. I've told you many times before. Would that suffice?"

That apparently doesn't help despite its being that one assurance I so long to hear for the moment. With a total lack of sensible response, I release the lock and nod at him. For acknowledgement he nods back, before pulling the handle to pry the door open. But after setting both his feet on the asphalt, he stretches a hand to me, reaching for my face—

"Be fucking done already, 'cause I have urgent news, Ulquiorra Scheiffer."

It takes me several seconds to recognize the voice and the figure standing right outside Ulquiorra's side of the car. Grimmjow Jaggerjack has both his fists stuffed in his pockets, refusing to inspect what he's seeing.

**TBC**


	25. Halibel

**Chapter XXV: Halibel**

Ulquiorra withdraws his hand from my face with hardly any sign of disturbance. Casually, as if nothing out of the ordinary has occurred, he shoots me a parting nod and stands beside his brother, who has his eyes locked on mine.

"Mother has returned. Just where the hell do you think you're sticking your nose into at this so critical a time?" Grimmjow asks Ulquiorra, his irritation shooting through the sky.

With the mention of their mother's name Ulquiorra's face flickers with color, and, laying aside his brother's intended insult, he asks back,

"Is she well? Did she arrive with Father?"

"What the hell do you think I am, a customer service stand?"

Brimming with excitement and relief, Ulquiorra turns to me and says,

"I suppose this meeting is over. I'll head home now, and I suggest you do the same. Come, Jack, and let us hear from Mother." With no further assertion of what he has just said, he disappears into the darkness ahead.

Grimmjow stays still on his spot, his gaze never leaving mine, and with its intensity all I can manage to do is to pull away from it.

"Now that the prick is out of the way, you _are_ coming with me, Kurosaki Ichigo."

"Where to?"

"Home. Mother specifically asks for you. How fast can you drive?"

"I can go over 60 if dad is not to find out."

"Well then, let me drive."

"Grimmjow, what do I have to do with this—"

"—I don't know, dammit. All I know is, Mother has arrived _without_ Father and that she immediately requires all her children's presence and yours; must be a meeting or shit of that sort. Now get off the driver's seat and I'll handle the wheel. And keep in mind that I don't have fucking time for arguments."

It occurs to me that the threat in his voice speaks so much of an urgency he himself is not aware of, yet. It must be fear, something I thought he was incapable of, that's rendering him altogether incoherent at the moment. Nevertheless, I throw the door open and storm out of the seat.

"Fine, dammit. Drive like a bastard and get both of us killed if you wish to." I retaliate. Grudgingly I install myself on the passenger seat before slamming the door with such a force no bastard could have ignored. Without further ado and notice of my irritation, he takes on the wheel and pelts through the road at _breakneck_ speed.

It's pretty much next to impossible for this to turn into a decent ride. I have thus decided to stay still and keep my trap shut, not without a few lethal sideway glances at him, though.

"Do you not love me, Kurosaki Ichigo?" Grimmjow Jaggerjack asks me.

After hearing something like this, I don't think I'd be able to think straight in the minutes to follow. Additionally, he's said it without restraint or hesitation, as though I should answer him as quickly as the words got out his mouth. All the same, though, he sounds scared— scared of something he has yet to know. But soon we are nearing his house.

"Knowing the answer to that can't quite equal to the importance of whatever news your mother brings. We can talk about that later." I manage to answer.

"Later, you say? What if there's no later—"

"—you're beginning to sound like your brother."

At that, his grip on the wheel and the stick tightens. He glares at me as he pulls over their garage to an abrupt halt, whose impact causes my face to slam onto the fucking dashboard. Before I got the chance to return the favor, he has already dashed out of the fucking car and has chucked the car keys at my lap. Feeling annoyed beyond known bounds, I follow him towards their porch and into the house, not without extending my irritation.

In the dining hall, the family members save Dr Aizen are seated around the table, their silence unnerving. Mrs. Aizen has both her hands together over the table, looking thoroughly composed, and yet utterly the look of disarray is in her eyes. She motions at me to take the seat beside Ulquiorra, who seems disconcerted to find me in Grimmjow's company. I sit beside him, and across me Grimmjow takes the empty chair. Apart from everyone, Neliel is the only one showing bare emotions, which become increasingly readable by the second. Szayel is sitting beside his mother, whom he loves above all, and is inspecting her with concealed anxiety. Stark alone looks reserved. Halibel starts,

"Children, I have gathered all of you here tonight to deliver…" her voice breaks to an unpleasant halt. Within seconds her tanned complexion loses its lushness and the white of her eyes reddens to an extent which confirms vampires don't cry with tears-but with blood.

"Mother?" Szayel asks, his panic-stricken voice unbecoming.

Halibel recovers almost instantly. But this time she turns to _me_. She speaks,

"Kurosaki Ichigo, there is a reason why I called for you tonight." She says with a voice which seems to have been much worn out by what possibly is grief. She continues, "But before anything else, hear me, my children, for your father is _dead_."

At this, it would be impossible to describe in complete details the individual reaction of the Aizen siblings. Among other things, no one seems to question the truth in the announcement, nor does anyone seem to be willing to speak. As to why they have accepted the news without a single question, I can't tell. One thing is for sure; it's that their insides are lamenting, mourning with pain whose kind is visible in their ageless eyes. I don't know why I'm here with them receiving the gravest news each and every one of them could have heard in a millennium. I do know, however, that as time ticks by this night of extreme unrest is granting us what little repose the situation can permit. And so Neliel, looking pale and far from well, speaks first,

"M—mother, w—where is he? Where is father—I mean—his body? W—who—kill—did that to him?" she asks through trembling lips, and red tears stream down her face, unheeding and unrepressed.

"None of him is left; only his _head _was sent back to the Order. There was no need to bring him back here, unless pain is what we desire. Grieve, but do not fear, children, for we shall remain intact."

Her voice passes among the Aizen siblings like a chill that even Grimmjow is looking quite solemn, the natural haughtiness in him only recognizable by its absence. Looking at him closely, redness is filling the narrow corners of his eyes. On the other hand, Stark is evincing not the slightest of anguish. A second look, however, dispels the illusion.

"I want to see him. I'll go now, Mother, to see what's left of Father." Ulquiorra announces with a conviction that could have held its own in hell.

"Scheiffer, it would be most convenient if—"

"—I'm going too. I need blood. Let me have my share of the carnage." Grimmjow interrupts. Absurd as it sounds, there is fire burning in his eyes which are now infinitely more marked by madness than they have ever been before…

"Scheiffer, Jack, sit down. I can't dispatch you immediately or as you wish, at least not now. But, above all, I'll thank you to remember how and why Sousuke lost his life in the first place; it's to put you, his children, out of harm's way. I expect you kids are not so ungrateful as to do the complete opposite of his intentions by going out there. He died trying to protect us. Now that it's been said, I want to deliver you the message he left behind before he plunged into his death." She pauses to look at Ulquiorra and Grimmjow, who both sink to their seat, placated by their mother's warning. Halibel continues, "Sousuke had intended all along for us to live in peace, but the current situation now doesn't quite allow that to be fulfilled as easily as he desired. As such, I will be heading back there on behalf of the family—Szayel, Nel, allow me to finish—to be this coven's representative. Should I be unable to survive the war, I am handing down the leadership of this coven to Stark. Scheiffer will be your right hand. I hope you'll all accept this arrangement, if not immediately then at least through time." She pauses, languishing in a stage where nothing hurts anymore, or so it seems. I stare mutely at the table, my discomfort suppressed into silence by the grimness around me. Scarcely in control of her voice, she recovers, "Sousuke knew it all along. I've known it along, but I'm not strong enough for this. Thus I have to move forward and take my revenge. I have already secured your father's last will and testament under your coffins. Read it if you will. And now, Kurosaki Ichigo, I apologize for summoning you here tonight. As such may be, I hope you understand that time is against me, thereby leaving me no other option but to finish what remains of my task on this night as well."

It stands to reason that I hardly have a damn reason to be a witness to this occasion, whatever it is. But, with the way things are faring, shutting my trap is the best or perhaps the only option I have.

"I understand, ma'am."

"There's something, Kurosaki-kun." She tells me. Things are starting to fall a long way from how I want them to go, I conclude, especially now when she starts to look at me intently, as if to memorize me. On top of this, everyone seems to be indifferent to all my vain efforts to bustle out of here and have not another shit to do with this. This is a very private family affair, for crying out loud. At any rate, she continues, "Things will be different from now on. As you have just promptly witnessed, Jack and Sheiffer here are very keen on getting a fair share of blood." At this, Grimmjow and Ulquiorra give a start, which Halibel suspends with a warning gesture.

"What is the meaning of this, Mother?" Ulquiorra asks, his agitation burrowing deep in his voice.

Halibel gazes at her son, and her calmness is puzzling, and it's comforting all the same to know it's there to inform us there's nothing to worry about amidst this present calamity. She answers,

"Look well upon his face, Scheiffer—and you too, Jack. Is this the one you want to leave behind? If so, then you may chase after where your father took off. But do keep in mind that you may _never _see this boy again should you choose to follow the path I dare to tread."

Both Grimmjow and Ulquiorra remain silent, their faces clearly condemning the entire proceeding. As for me, I'm starting to understand the sum and meaning of my presence here, insignificant as it is. I am in deep shit.

Silence rings through the minutes, and its passage services for us all-whether to grant us solitude or real thinking I can't quite tell. In due time, Szayel speaks,

"And will you tell us now, mother, why three dampeals are prowling outside near enough for me to smell?"

"Ah, them. Do not be hostile, children. I will introduce you to them soon enough." Halibel says before closing her eyes, barricading herself from any disturbance. A few seconds of watching her makes me think she's trying to invoke something—someone. No sooner than she opens her eyes does a series of knocks issue from the front door. She stands up and disappears, without any hint on who's at the door. And when she finally comes back, three strange-looking dudes are with her. They're entirely without a doubt the ones who gate-crashed the School Dance.

"Interesting." Ulquiorra whispers beside me.

"These three are members of the Order." Halibel begins to explain, after which she turns to the visitors, "Gentlemen, I'd like to introduce you to my children and their human friend here."

The tallest among them, one with black hair and narrow eyes, has a scar on his face befitting of a formidable history. I'd be damned if a werewolf didn't do that to him… not that such a creature exists or ever did. In any case, he steps forward, as though implying no other in his company can have a better claim on the foremost authority, and speaks,

"I prefer to be called Hisagi within this continent. I will be the head of this operation, and together with my two companions, who desire to be called Ayasegawa and Madarame for now, I am to keep tabs on this coven in so far as the commander and your mother deem it necessary."

At this, Grimmjow rises to his feet, "Mother, do you seriously think we are in dire need of babysitters? And dampeals at that too!"

His outrage and indignation might as well be the howling wind outside. One of the dampeals, the very beautiful one, tilts his head slightly, looking as though a very delightful sight is being supplied before him without limits.

Halibel speaks, "Not exactly, Jack. This is simply a safety precaution whose purpose is to prevent you from taking rash decisions, such as to follow me down Transylvania. The commander deems it important to conserve the Order's and its allies' resources, seeing as we're very much falling behind in terms of manpower. Of course, young and inexperienced as you are, it would be foolish to set you loose out there to eventually die like dogs. Additionally, these three will be your window to what's going on outside, for they will inform you of whatever news that concerns you and this coven—my death, for instance"

TBC


	26. Nutshell

**A/N: I've made a draft of the succeeding chapters. To my estimation, this shit may stretch up to four chapters more. That's a warning because 30 chappies would wear anyone's patience. so you're welcome to stop at this point.**

**Chapter XXVI: Nutshell**

I can remember too well how calm they were when she walked out the door, never to return in any time ahead—never again. I remember relating the entire scene to some sort of a customary incident which would time and again remind everyone involved that life wasn't as monotonic as one feared it would. I remember Szayel rearing up ahead of us to stalk his mother's heels, silently, grimly, desolately, only to stop upon learning she had retreated deeper than where his voice could reach her— or anyone's for that matter. I was thinking, she could've stayed an hour longer, in which case she would grant an hour in her children's lives devoid of the knowledge that she would die- an hour of better times.

Halibel Aizen's body was never recovered. When the news was received, I was in the forest with Ulquiorra, who had been ignoring his thirst for a week. He said, or hinted, his appetite had dwindled to such a point where none of the other creatures, including me, could push it back to recovery. With that, I decided to play the role of a good counselor you'd never wanna miss out on, especially when you're in a pinch. Among many things I could observe, he was very hungry. And more than that, his appearance spoke so loud of it, so much that his pupils were growing redder, much redder in contrast with how I remembered them. Finally, as the word 'simple' was not to be a part of the equation, we heard a snap from behind. Without raising any hostile thoughts, the silent intruder piled out to approach Ulquiorra.

"Come with me, child, for something grave has fallen." Someone said, hinting on something horrid. His tone alone could've done the job, and further adding to the moroseness of the situation was his expression.

"And who might you be?" Ulquiorra asked.

"They call me Jyuushiro Ukitake in this land. Come, _young one_."

The name hardly suited him, frankly. I was expecting something which sounded very Latin or Greek, but since he made it clear it was only some sort of a screen name his case was made clearer somehow.

"I've heard that name before. They call you 'White King of the West'. To what do I owe the honor of having someone like you seek me?" Ulquiorra inquired.

"A message of great importance, I daresay. Now if you please…"

"Say it now, _mighty one_, and prolong this no longer."

I stood where I was, not knowing whether to turn away or nose around. The creature-for if he was human then my name wasn't Kurosaki Ichigo- started to peruse Ulquiorra, who was beginning to show a losing struggle against his thirst, what with his veins becoming more visible on his temples and neck as he moved. Nevertheless, Jyuushiro Ukitake, whose face seemed to me inhumanly beautiful, spoke,

"Halibel Aizen is dead."

It sounded like a profanation of a name one couldn't have written down in connection with anything as human as death. Perversely, the mutual unpleasantness dawned on Ulquiorra without as much as a twitch on his brow, his emotions not betraying him by so much as a blink, as if this was something he had expected to hear long before now.

"And what of her remains?"

"She was torn to shreds along with five other dampeals and vampires. We cremated her, and her ashes arrived at your doorstep early this morning."

"Is that all?"

"No, I'm afraid. Moving on, from here your brother, the strong one, shall take over what your parents left behind, which is the same as saying many responsibilities are to be delegated to him and to his lot. You know too well where this leads us; we _need _your power."

I found that scarcely a minute passed by without my heart skipping a beat, and, aside from that, nothing was clearly going well. I could hear Ulquiorra's teeth making strange sounds, apparently calling for blood.

"Don't flatter yourself that your formidability's worth any price you choose to ask, White King. Are we just _pawns _to you? Do you think tragedy exists to flavor lives? My parents are dead, sir, and you know why." Ulquiorra was hissing the words.

Jyuushiro, whose views seemed to be most unwelcome at this time, grew grim.

"I do not deny my lot holds the greater part of the blame. Yes, your parents are dead because of us, and soon many others may follow them. For this exact same reason we have to prevent this evil from stretching. Will you come, Ulquiorra Scheiffer?"

His voice rang calm, so unlike the restless swaying of the forest elements around us, yet somehow there appeared to be nothing more urgent than what he was asking for.

"I cannot leave as of now, but as sure as the rivers reach the sea, my powers are _yours_."

"I am indebted to you, and so are my people."

With a courteous, royal nod the White King disappeared into the gloom, taking away the chilly wind with him. When I turned to Ulquiorra he was stooping low like a wounded soldier, as if his back was paining him.

He was snickering.

"To be frank, I missed the funny part. What's the matter, Ulquiorra?"

"Did you see that, Kurosaki? How he was talking like he could just walk in on us and act as though he meant the best for everyone? The _bastard _has got to be insane." He continued to laugh with a sort of mirth Judas could be proud of. On top of that, it was anything but sincere. But he had just received the news saying he had officially become an orphan, which was something to lose your head about, if only for a few minutes. I didn't know what to say to him nor did I bother to determine what I should do. Instead I stood there watching him, pity simmering beneath me.

"Maybe you should take a drink."

"Yes, maybe I should, but, really, why would a damn Vampire be deserving of the leadership of the greatest coven in the world? And to think he has Dampeals for henchmen, he must be the slickest bastard out there."

That explained why Jyuushiro Ukitake, in our first meeting, looked less of a human as Ulquiorra. Amidst all this, nothing explained why Ulquiorra was behaving like he never had. It was without a doubt a grave ending for his parents, and yet he couldn't stop laughing.

"Ulquiorra-"

"-no, wait for it, Kurosaki. Don't you think it's strange, that there's quite a number of Halflings out there? I'll tell you what I think; he manufactures them. Bastards like him prowl in the dark, waiting for pregnant women, to contaminate the children in their-"

"-enough, dammit. What the hell is wrong with you?"

At that time I sure had complete immunity against darkness and whatever supernatural things it brings with it. Despite that, I couldn't help feeling the chill running through me.

"Can I get a taste of you?"

"…"

"Will you let me, Kurosaki? I can endure this no longer than I should keep laughing."

"…"

"Just to end this torment, can I drink from you?"

"If this is a joke, I ain't laughing."

In fact I fancied the news of his mother's death funnier than this.

"If you let me, we would never be sundered. Your blood would stay with me, in my veins."

"I can tell you're hungry, but, damn, go get your teeth set on a damn squirrel or something."

"Listen, I'm done for. This strolling in solitude with you is over. Watching you sleep every night has come to an end. If this is to be the last we would see of each other, I'd like to take a part of you with me."

Watching me sleep is something I've always known he does consistently. But when I heard it straight from his mouth it seemed so long ago to matter, like I was facing something so ultimate that nothing else around us should count as anything of value. Furthermore, I knew that the discomfort coursing through me was not from the forest chill.

"So it ends like this, doesn't it? It's as easy as asking me to think your existence was never brought to my attention. I thought I'd receive some shit better than this." I said.

It looked to me as though he was lined with pain in every square inch of his body, which was precisely what I was feeling.

"Let me drink from you. If you let me, we'll find each other no matter where we roam afterwards. It's possible, if you wait for me."

"How?"

"I'm not making you one of us, but if your blood is in mine we'll never part. We _must _never be apart."

He sounded strange, far away, and frenzied. I couldn't entirely agree with what he was implying, much less with what he was proposing, considering all the absurdities it came along with. But I didn't want him to go, so the only option I had was to believe him. Aside from that, I wasn't sure what I was feeling. And subsequently I couldn't clarify what was only a feeling. All I knew was, I perhaps wouldn't wanna live if he'd be gone for the remainder of my life.

"Yes, Ulquiorra, we must never be apart, so I'll wait for you, but don't be too late… at least be in time for my funeral."

He scurried beside me, so fast I didn't have time to catch my breath, and with enough gracefulness to suggest I was fragile he kissed me on the neck. His breath was cold.

"Don't talk of funerals now. I won't be too late; I'll follow you anywhere you go."

"Keep your promise, bastard."

My throat was tightening so fast I was scared I wouldn't accomplish real words in the seconds to follow.

"I'll come back for you, even from death. Do you love me, Kurosaki?"

"…"

"Alright, you don't have to answer that."

"I-I do… always have, maybe."

"That's good enough for me."

He sank his fangs in my neck, sending a sensation so hard to describe and much harder to define. I thought a pain like that could wake bodies from the dead. In the succeeding seconds I was sure quite an amount of blood was being hauled off my veins one after the other. Amidst the horror, complacency never left me, because Ulquiorra Scheiffer wouldn't do anything to hurt me.

...

When I woke up I was in my bed. I must have passed out before Ulquiorra finished drinking from me. I stared out the window to find the sun shining brighter than it ever did, and with that I knew that Ulquiorra had left to pursue his doom- whether to return or not, I wouldn't have the scantest means of knowing.

**TBC**


	27. Blood

**Warning**: This effing chapter sucks like hell. I'm serious.

**Chapter XXVII: Blood**

I keep hoping, because if it didn't strike him as necessary to wake me up to say goodbye wouldn't that mean everything hadn't still come to an end? What's more is, he's only been gone for three days, and feeling empty sure is stupid. In between worrying and feeling annoyed, there are times when I'd remember him back in the forest, where we kissed many times.

"Didn't the _fucking _prick say anything to you?" Grimmjow asks me. He has his gaze fixed outside my window, watching the sun settle into the last streak of dawn.

"He said he was going away. I thought he'd let his family know first."

"That sneaky bastard. He's ruining everything Father and Mother had worked for."

"Grimmjow, is there a way to get him back?"

"Sure there is. We'll just have to have someone drag his ass back here or give him a call and tell him you've committed suicide." His annoyance starts to hover in varying degrees of intensity. I survey him long enough to ascertain that the tightness in which his fists are subjected can very much draw blood. He continues, now calm, "Are you worried about him, Kurosaki?"

"Yeah, and maybe you should too 'cause he's still your brother."

"That may be so, but why didn't you stop the bastard from going?"

"I tried, if you must know, but I'm only human, ain't I?"

He turns to me, inspecting my face in a manner I'd have wished he wouldn't choose. In the process, his expression remains fixed, but he doesn't. Walking past the carpet, he roots himself before me.

"Are you still human?"

"I'm not sure I follow you."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why in bloody fuck did you give him blood?"

My heart skips a full beat. In the past, I never thought much about my actions every time I was with Ulquiorra, and it's not surprising to know I didn't consider what should follow if I had him drink from me.

"He was hungry. He didn't have anything to drink for a week before that."

"And you think consequence isn't something worth thinking of?"

He looks a long way from composed, as what he's trying to project. Unless for something else, he's really mad at me this time.

"What the hell are you talking about?" I ask back, without much concern if the words got out right or if there's any reason for his anger.

"You've just about given yourself to him. You made a Blood Pact with him, which means you're bound to meet him again before the end, _no matter what_." He answers with a strange emphasis on the last phrase.

"And what makes something like that wrong? If I'm to see him again before I die, or before he does, isn't that a good thing?"

His jaw loosens up, obscuring the firmness and the almost savage aspects of his face. His lazy eyes, on the other hand, retain the rest of what's fearsome in him.

"You _idiot_. I'm going, dammit. I'm hungry as hell and, unlike him, I've enough humility to refrain from asking for your blood. To hell with this shit."

He climbs over the window, nimble as a he is, looking somewhere far, never to look back.

"Hey."

"What?"

"If you're leaving you'll tell me, won't you?"

"I'm leaving now. Anything else?"

"Not that, dammit. If-do you plan to go where Ulquiorra is?"

A long pause fills the room, and even in this almost sacred silence his petulance doesn't waver for a second.

"Maybe I do, maybe I don't. Whichever turns out, I can't stay here, Kurosaki. I can't fucking live like a rat in this small world; not when the world may be crumbling."

"I see. Well, goodnight, Grimmjow."

"Ichigo," he calls me by my first name just when I start to think he cares as little for me as to go away without a decent goodbye. Indeed, he has secured his feet back on the floor, making the irresoluteness in his mind grow more evident as he walks back towards me. He mumbles, "Stop being stubborn and be mine already."

"Why does everyone have to go away?"

"On the bright side, I'm not asking for your blood as a goddamn parting gift."

"I-I want assurance that we'll meet again."

"What for? I've known everything all along, all this time. Funny thing is, I never gave up, maybe never will. But if it so happens you're willing to give me blood, that would be a completely different matter and I won't have any of that shit. It's either me or him; no fucking sharing, brothers or rivals. And it's him to whom you've given yourself already. I guess there are no questions here just as much as it's obvious. You do understand where I'm getting at, don't you, that _it ends here?"_

I do, in fact, and that's why it hurts. Until now, my selfishness was never something I'd bother myself with, so long as I get all the benefits. In the long run, I realized there was this huge possibility that I love Ulquiorra; that's something I can't hide anymore. If it means forfeiting everything I have that may hurt him, I'll have to deal with forfeiture.

This is it for me and Grimmjow.

"I understand."

Grimmjow remains as still as a statue, looking neither defeated nor disappointed, as though this was something he didn't only foresee but also designed.

"Good. So you want me to inform you if ever I'm going away. I'll be leaving sooner than you can say 'hold on' or 'shit'. Truth is, there's nothing for me here anymore, and you know it. We've always known the family members are gonna scatter right after the pillars crumble. Mother and Father are dead; the pillars are gone now. I am my own again. I'll try to stay alive to see you again. If I fail, then this is farewell, human."

I try to keep my eyes on him, but like an impossible, ominous force the sight of his back turns into something else; a sort of a last farewell whose kind I've never known before now. And then for him to be gone, for him to just walk away from where I'm standing leaves me no more than a mess. I do not know why this is wasting me away, but I'm being wasted all the same.

"Wait, Grimmjow."

"What?"

"…"

"I haven't got all day, just so you know."

"I-I love your brother."

"Yeah, I think we've established that long ago, haven't we?"

"I-I'm really sorry."

"I get the message. So where do we go from here?"

"Whatever happens I-I'm glad I fell over you on that fire exit one clear morning many months ago."

He steadies himself and nods condescendingly, each of his gestures and decisions final, irrevocable.

"Fair enough. I'm glad too, Ichigo."

In my mind the Earth is shuddering underneath and there's no subduing it. But in this soul I'm certain there's a way to let it pass without being shaken, broken. In the end I ask for that one thing which is probably my last standing option for comfort,

"Kiss me."

"What?" he asks, now confused.

"Won't you?"

"I will if you don't stop asking. Dammit, why do you have to be a friggin' sadist at a time like this?"

"Kiss me, Grimmjow Jaggerjack."

"Just what the hell?"

"Kiss me, before I change my mind."

Suddenly it hits me, like a fucking train wreck that could annihilate all its passengers on both ends, that I'm also in love with Grimmjow Jaggerjack.

**TBC**


	28. Pentagram

**A/N**: _Ulquiorra's POV; i don't really know how to do this any other way. this is just a look into something else other than Ichigo's setting. and, oh, this is pointless._

**Chapter XXVIII: Pentagram**

Even at this hour, while sensing predators at my heels, I'm hearing his voice and feeling his breath against my chest. I suppose remembering hurts more than experiencing.

It's been a month since I flew away from what I called my home for three years, where I met Kurosaki Ichigo. Now, nothing here stands as a close semblance with the life I knew in Japan. Perhaps the difference isn't too large, but in thinking it lies with the fact that Kurosaki isn't here, maybe it's as large as life itself.

In more urgent matters, Gin hasn't been operating by our expectations. It's all evident with the number of deaths which sails steadily but hasn't been showing any threat of increase, for which we're thankful. The casualties, on the contrary, are mortally alarming, so much that the two Dampeal Elders, who like to be addressed with the names Shinji and Kisuke, have taken quite a number of matters in their own hands, abandoning their mighty thrones temporarily. Now that everything is clear, it seems utterly bizarre to me that the Pentagram, the controlling core of the Order, is composed of two dampeals and three vampires. In the light of it all, it's not altogether surprising if you consider how dampeals come around, since the number of existing Halflings doesn't quite spell 'accident' or 'coincidence'; it's not every decade that a woman's yet to be born child gets contaminated by the Dark Gift. _It's all part of a cruel cycle_, Vampire Elder Kyouraku, the Bronze King, said.

"_I'm giving you immortality, and in return the child in your womb is mine."-_that's pretty much how I imagine it to be, or how I understand it. The whole of this makes me think that the darkest regions of the Earth has been a breeding ground all along-all for the distribution of the good.

I'm currently taking refuge under a grim roof, a shelter deep in the mountains, along with creatures Mother and Father regarded as allies. I survey the darkness, where nothing is plain to the naked eye. Earlier today, Kyouraku had been sharp enough to gauge the precise subject in my thoughts, as if reading minds- something I do not doubt he can do. Thus, without hinting anything that might lead to the conversation we were to have, he grabbed the opportunity to personally tell me, with what seemed to me as a ridiculous farce of civility,

"It's not like we're defying the will of god, young one; it's that we aim to achieve optimum efficiency. Breeding vampires would be no different from, say, wreaking evil. I mean, you've known that first hand, haven't you? You do remember how the first wave of bloodlust almost consumed you to a point very near death, as such has always been the case with our race in the early stages of our transformation. In sum, it would've been next to impossible to create and tame an army whose majority consisted of vampires. Having said that, I hope it also crosses your mind that _our _creations, the Dampeals, are in fact given the chance to take part in a most noble deed. It's not exactly a favor but it's a great privilege nonetheless."

If I had anything you'd call luck it might've been very easy to say aloud that all he said was a sordid joke and I didn't expect much truth from the mouth of someone who had robbed hundreds of women their children's lives. Unfortunately for me, though, it so happens that this Vampire is the Ace of Spades in this territory, and possibly of the entire vampire race, thus I could only nod faintly. I had thought a power like this only existed within living memory, not here in an age so infested with fragile little lives. And for him to wear what he was wearing, a monk's robe and a silver cross around his neck, made me suspect him guilty of paying mocking tribute to someone who could be his equal.

"The will of god, sir?" was all I managed to answer.

"Yes. I have a feeling we're up against it one way or another, despite our efforts to honor peace and order. There must be a better way out there, shouldn't you think so?"

"I know nothing. I do want to know, however, if there's a god."

He cracked a smile, making his thoughts partially revealed, and it seemed to me that his thinking had started to run lines parallel with mocking understanding.

"Why shouldn't there be one?"

"Well, sir, if there's a god what the hell is he for when creatures like you and Gin could take and give lives as much as you please?" I said. If Father were alive and here, such question and boldness would only rot in my tongue unspoken, otherwise I'd receive more than the severest of reproach.

Kyouraku, his pleasant face disarming, continued to smile, which was obviously due to some courteous reception rather than his honest sentiments. I tried not to be tensed by his scrutiny, but had no more success than my attempt to look undaunted.

"A god has more fancies than creating and taking lives, child. For instance, he may alter the course of things if he chooses to. You are a wise one, I say, but still too young to understand in its fullest extents divine existences."

Indeed, it unnerved me that he should speak in a manner so devoid of sincerity. Moreover, what was more unusual in his speech was the fact of someone like him saying such. Because, with strength like that, the chances clearly portend he will soon fancy himself a god before he realizes his folly. Or perhaps I'm underestimating the creatures living under this roof.

In the next room, Yorouichi, the Black Queen, is conversing with her magnificent creation, her favorite, Soi-fon. Soi-fon is a cold one who seems to hold no fear other than for her creator, whom she seems to place high above the rest of the Pentagram. Among other things, Soi-fon is a dampeal and is the ace of the Order. If truth be told, she's more efficient than I am, I can give her that, but I'm inclined to think there's no comparison between our strengths, experience aside. Yorouichi, unsurprisingly, is a completely different matter. But, if anything, she doesn't possess the same reverence Jyuushiro and Kyouraku evince. In fact there's something inferior about the way she delivers herself. In the long run, this turns out to be only a superficial account of her capabilities. The only testimony to her abilities I've had the pleasure of witnessing is her combat skills, which are quite enough for me to dub her the Queen of the Damned, rightfully. As for other things, her thoughts, her foresight, her views and the rest which pertain to her wisdom, remain clouded to me.

In the garden, the White King, Jyuushiro, is walking under the moonlight, three of his fledglings trailing behind him. I have a perfect view of their movements, but not a clear understanding, for I can't hear what they're talking about nor do I have any promising conjecture. One thing is for sure; Hisagi, Jyuushiro's right-hand man, is being pursued by some grave anxiety, and the other two, Madarame and Ayasegawa, though less distraught in their bearing, seem to be sharing the same sentiments. Quite apart from his companions, Jyuushiro, to my estimation, isn't in the least disturbed by whatever the three are trying to convey. Perhaps age and power are capable of dispelling every sort of fear.

In another place, some twenty hallways away, Kisuke, one they call the Silver One, also Yorouichi's creation, briefs through a pile of manuscripts, the contents of which completely unknown to me. They call him a genius, not for his extensive knowledge but rather for his abilities and strength as a warrior and a leader. He's a strange one, I daresay, for being so hard to read what he's truly capable of. Apart from it all, it's actually the first time I encounter a dampeal stronger than Father. Come to think of it, Kisuke and Shinji were those two whom Szayel most conveniently referred to as 'so strong and ancient they could destroy us in an instant'. Being in such close proximity with the two, I now say Szayel's predilection deserved pure merit and wasn't absurd by any means. It's as if I'm looking at the expanse of the world for the first time-in knowing that under the same big roof five individuals here hold so much power, the likes of which my siblings have never been exposed to.

Now Shinji, the Golden One, walks into the room, his eyes never gracing me, and rummages through the bookshelf. He asks me,

"Ya know, I've never met anyone quite like you. So, what is it exactly, above 100?"

"I'd wager you're talking about my age."

"See, I start jabbering about numbers and you start giving off that age crap. That's boring. I'm talking about the number of kills. So how many of Gin's ghouls did you take down yesterday? I got forty-three or so, so let's hear it."

"Oh, that. You beat me by thirty or so, sir." I answer the truth I know. Around _sixty _ghouls issued forth from the Western Plains yester night, and therefore I simply can't begin to fathom how it could have been possible for me to take down _a hundred _of them. Going back, three of us were dispatched to take care of the mess, which wasn't anything I'd call a serious threat to our forces, knowing that Shinji alone could've handled the job with no sweat or blood on his part.

"Good start. Maybe I can send you to wrap that Tousen bastard in a casket, shouldn't you think so?"

Tousen is Gin's right-hand man _or vice-versa_. I'm not particularly bothered by the Order's incompetence in matters of information gathering; after all, eradicating the evil ones is our primary concern and it's pretty easy to determine which ones to exterminate first and foremost. But that's neither here nor there. The fact that two abyssal vampires are ruling the nest we swear to destroy is hard to reconcile with the idea of our absolute success in this.

"I don't think I'm quite up to mark with a task of that nature." I answer with earnest humility.

Observing all these, I feel my insides bear a terrible weight, sorrow, something that time can't annul. I reckon I've reached the last chapter of life, that in this place is where I'll end.

But what is this? I can see from afar, with all my powers exhausted, Grimmjow, Stark, Nel, and Szayel, my siblings, moving towards the fortress, towards me. They've come to join me, undoubtedly.

"A family reunion? This is interesting." Shinji mutters. How he managed to sense them is beyond me.

**TBC**


	29. Abyss

**A/N: To be fair, I had to write this in Grimmjow's POV.**

**Chapter X: Abyss**

How many more suns I shall see set only time can tell. How much I know is true will not be asserted unless some great god out there convinces me of the truth. It ticks me that this world is full of wonders and secrets but not as much as it is filled with horrors of the most varied kind. If I had to go on living I would perhaps need to make use of this immortality for the monsters out there. And there are also heroes, which I am not-which sucks, by the way.

In the long run, I ended up doing what Scheiffer did. Well, of course, since everything from here has promised to be difficult my three other siblings tagged along. So now I'm mighty glad the journey is over in spite of our arrival being the precursor of the shit to follow. Hell, even seeing Scheiffer safe and unhurt failed to be a reliable source of relief. Maybe it's because I'm thinking of Sousuke-Father-and how it was possible for him to get done in just like that. And he was so strong. And then Halibel was next. I never could've imagined her getting tarnished-not even her clothes-and the next thing I would hear was this shit about some bastard ripping her limb from limb. She was a great mother, really. And yet distantly, vaguely, all this points to one thing; that much I know. We'll die here, me, Scheiffer, Stark, Nel, and Szayel.

"Say, Scheiffer, what makes this Gin bastard so strong? Surely, Mother and Father weren't killed by trashes or some of his low-level minions." I inquire with a tone which pretty much demonstrates how increasingly dumb I'm becoming.

"That's hard to explain. Think of it this way; we measure ourselves by our equals, consequently marking the ones stronger than us 'strong', correct? In Gin's case, however, he is strong by all known standards. They say he's a Pureblood. Others say his creator was-or is."

Purebloods. Our race has no accurate historical background, which more or less states nobody knows how or when the first of our people came about. But, as far as anyone can tell, there are some among us who didn't acquire this curse by getting bitten-contaminated. They are called the Purebloods, the very first vampires who roamed the land, whose count, according to the wise, does not exceed my fingers on _one _hand. Five at most. To further enhance the probability of their existence, some say these creatures do not remember having been human. And, with our-vampires'- memories being superior and infallible, it must mean they were _never _once human to start with. Whether they fell from some high place or sprang from hell no one knows for sure. As for me, though, _it's all bullshit_.

"Do you seriously believe that Pureblood shit? I've never even met one to make me buy that crap, mind you."

"Believing or not believing doesn't make a difference, does it, brother?"

"That's beside the point-"

"-I've met one." Stark butts in, surprisingly.

"Really, Stark, that info's not so overdue now, is it? Because I was under the stupid impression we've been living under the same fucking roof for, what, six decades?" I ask. Seriously, I could have signed up for insult and felt the same way, or worse.

"The one who created me was one. I never really understood why he was so different, why there was not the slightest trace of human scent in him. Many years later, I met Sousuke, who seemed to have noticed immediately that my strength was abnormal for a vampire my age. It took me more than the right amount of time to understand it all but, in due time, living with you guys and Mother and Father showed me the difference between him, my creator, and commoners like us." Stark finishes.

Commoners? What a load of crap. I didn't temporarily subscribe to this talk to tolerate this stupidity. Come on, I'm not just about to accept I'm a lower-grade specimen who'd cringe away from the real deal. Gimme a break.

"Are you serious? If such breed really does exist-"

"-pardon my intrusion, _children_." a voice from somewhere steals the spotlight. Before anything else, I see no reason to suppose we're a bunch you'd be inclined to call children. I do look young, though. But the way it was said hit so far from home. So I turn around, wondering how stupid I have been for failing to hear the bastard's footsteps.

"Who might you be?" I take the honor because my goddamn siblings' mouths won't budge.

"I am your host, _young ones_. I know all your names so please hear mine; they call me Kyouraku, and I'll be glad if you're feeling at home within these walls. This will be your shelter for quite a long time."

That's just lame, not to mention awkward. It makes me wonder how much necessary it is to maintain a formal reception of anything that's said. To my dismay, Scheiffer and Neliel have assumed this air of fraud reservation, which isn't at all helpful in any sense. So I study the bastard.

It seems impossible not to look at him in wonder.

He looks not a day older than Sousuke in appearance, yet somehow, with what foresight I have acquired in all the years of being immortal, this one seems to soar high in the catalogues of great wisdom. I cannot with any certainty determine what the others have felt upon his entrance, but no sooner than I look at Stark does my suspicion become clear.

Stark's eyes have gone pale.

"Yoh, Stark, are you high on something?" I ask.

My brother of a bastard does not answer. Instead, Kyouraku the Vampire does me the favor of sorting out the unknown premises by addressing Stark,

"Yes, you are Stark, aren't you? You have turned out to be quite a remarkable vampire. And so we meet again, _my child_."

It's too tempting to disclose aloud what I want to ask, but by the time Stark nods his regal head docilely, as if with a purpose none of us are meant to recognize, it strikes me that this is more than just a common courtesy one would exercise in the presence of someone so ancient and wise.

"Master, after all these years, all this time, why only now?"

I'm gaping at that. For someone to be called 'master' by someone like Stark, the greatest insubordinate fucker of the universe, this one must be…you tell me.

"I meant to show myself to you sooner, but things have gone well out of hand. Please understand. As of now, sweet reunions are to be reserved for better occasions; you know why you're here."

No one speaks, at least not immediately. As always, Scheiffer is the first to regain authority over his senses,

"As I have said, our powers are yours." The prick volunteers. It takes every feeble effort in my power to stop my mouth from shooting, 'speak for yourself, prick.'

"Very well. I am leaving you now for your eyes to get used to the place. Someone will be back to attend to you. Farewell for now, Stark." Kyouraku says, and I must say the special treatment for Stark is sending me the creeps.

When the bastard has smoked out, I turn to Stark for the hell of it,

"Say, am I missing out on something?" I'm grinning like an idiot. I mean, in all seriousness, it's hard not to imagine Stark gunning after that Kyouraku git. He must be deeply involved with the bastard, if ya know what I mean. Worship and Stark together for the first time?

"Nothing, really, just the knowledge that five seconds ago a Pureblood, who happens to be my creator, was pondering why a teal-haired idiot was gawking at him like a moron."

You can pretty much see how well Stark is this sort of fucking prick that just won't die. Only intelligence and resolution are keeping my fist from his goddamn face, and now I'm wondering why the hell does he have to be stronger than me. In any case, I'm not just about to lose it with a quip like that, so I answer,

"Yeah, and his fledgling, his lovely child, isn't exactly jumping around for joy with the anti-climactic reunion. In fact, he seems heartbroken at the moment. Not even a kiss? What a letdown."

"I'm heading out." Stark mutters before trooping out the door, with Szayel hurrying after him. Well, that's pretty much how I'd have wanted it to end.

Nel heaves a sigh and takes the grown-up act of looking after her younger siblings.

"I'm going with him, so you two should better behave while I'm gone."

Now it's me and Scheiffer again in the same room, something I wouldn't have asked for under any circumstances. So I stand up, ready to storm the hell out, when he appeals,

"Wait, Jack."

"What?"

"How is Kurosaki?"

"How the hell would I know?"

This is exactly what I have been trying to avoid since I got here, and then he starts doing that which I so don't want him to do: annoy me, which now seems habitual to the sadist that he is.

"Surely you said goodbye to him."

"Is it any of your business?"

"I'm merely asking what his condition was in the last time you saw him. Is it too much to inquire, Jack, of his welfare?"

There's nothing unusual about his speech, honestly, but the fact of him asking such. Shouldn't the know-it-all son of a gun know better?

"Why ask me? Aren't you two getting in touch? He's yours, remember?"

"No. I've cut ties with him, seeing there's no point in involving myself with him henceforth."

"Liar. You drank his blood, bastard, and you know what such procedure forges. I'm off."

I tromp across the room, letting my weight find its human tread, something it doesn't possess to start with, when Scheiffer's grip catches my wrist. On principle, I threw his hand away from mine. He beats me to speaking first,

"Kurosaki and I shall meet again no matter what the odds are, even if only as _strangers_. I'll not perish in this world before he gets another glimpse of me and vice versa. That's all I want to ensue above everything, not the continuation of what we had, love, whatever it might have been."

Pompous prick. Frankly, I don't see the goddamn point of him telling me this, if indeed there's a goddamn point.

"What are you saying, prick?"

"I'm not dying here, nor are _you_. Let's survive this, Jack, for _we _must live, live to see him again."

Me and him having the same goal and interests is something I'd say 'no' to, on principle. Instead, I say,

"He loves you; he told me that. You've won this; no need to go around rubbing it in my open chest that's bleeding all over the fucking place."

This time, with disbelieving eyes, he lets me walk away in peace, with my thoughts barricaded from his nearly omniscient scrutiny for fear of some recent memory which now seems forever ago. I don't wanna die only because I want to see _him _again, if not for any other reason. He's in love with my brother, the one I so often detest, and there's no changing that, not when all has been said and done. With no tears, of course, I've walked out of Kurosaki's life without the briefest assurance of coming back, for I myself am not sure I'll survive this. Nevertheless, I'll see him again, in the next lifetime if not in this one. I just have to.

...

I walked out on Kurosaki, left him behind, leaving hardly a sign and only memories. On that night, for a moment I thought I had forgotten all that breathed or dreamed or lived. At the same time I couldn't shun the knowledge that everything was as final as it seemed. And he was kissing me. So I asked,

"Are you thinking of Scheiffer now, how it could've been him that you're kissing?"

"It could've been him, I know, but kiss me anyway, Grimmjow, and be gone when you really want to be gone."

It was like a clash of pleasure and pain in the rawest regions of my heart, which wouldn't beat.

"What is this?" I entreat, and it seemed beside the point to think further why I was being so subdued when all this was professing his love for Scheiffer, that bastard-even in kissing me.

"You and I, you know, will never be, won't we? in so long as I remain what I am and you what you are."

He was asking for immortality, of all fucking things I could give.

"I can't give you that, nor will I be willing to if I'm able. Don't worry; you'll see Scheiffer again, and me; that's a promise. Stay here and wait, but answer me now; do you love me, Kurosaki?"

He was pensive, as far as I could measure, and grieved, and therefore he couldn't be more sincere,

"I love your brother."

"I thought so." I answered and all was over. Over.

...

And now I disappear, in this land where real monsters roam the plains. I throw everything away, this life, this love, as there can be nothing out there to wait for me. _I love your brother, _it rings in my head, reverberating, echoing all that is true and changing all the lies I thought I was prepared for.

Maybe Scheiffer and the others will die too in this battlefield. Well, this may as well be our last stand; better give it our all.

"Let's go, brother, and end this monster." Ulquiorra, my brother, tells me.

**TBC**


	30. Rise Above This

**A/N: Short chapter, I know. The one after this shall be the last, I promise or I'll make it such, come hell or high water. This is still on hold, however. Still dunno how to end this; I'm just uploading what's stored in my pc. I'm still in the process of writing the supposed last chapter, and I'm not promising anything. sorry.  
**

**Chapter XXX: Rise Above This**

Seven years all gone and there's still a life to run. This isn't something I should think of now when larger matters are at stake. For one thing, my grades are barely breathing in their race for the passing mark.

Seven years and not a glimpse, not a word, not a shadow.

I'm twenty-three and in a residency program in this prestigious hospital. Here I am, trying to survive the harsh world of medicine and enjoying a life suffused with all the joy people around me are supplying, or trying to. I'll be a surgeon, maybe. All in all I'm still a happy chap, with quite an amazing luck with women and family.

I _am_ happy, and bleeding inside.

Time, the discoverer of all things, has forgotten me. I breeze through life, living in the past and having no faculty save for the perception of some happiness now long gone.

Ulquiorra Scheiffer. They say anything can yield comfort if you devote your time on it long enough. I've been concentrating on my life for the last six years, only succeeding in certain terms, striving to forget and to move on, and to stop holding on. I'm still holding on, still clinging to the belief that everything was real, not to some forlorn hope that he'll come back. He didn't come back, nor will he. And all those times I spent inside their empty house, now creaky and rusty from long disuse, had only been a bitter lesson for learning the broad path of sorrow and despair. Eventually, my hopes started to wait their turn for destruction, and die they did, so that he would remain in my mind, only to go away when all has come to naught.

Grimmjow Jaggerjack. I love your brother, I told him once upon a fateful time, leaving unsaid half the truth-that I loved him too. While all is over for my peace of mind, it's also too late for regrets now, and maybe too late to think of him even. I know next to nothing, except that he was caught up in this immense web of death with his brother. I can only wonder with no clue, is it possible to bury sorrow with joy? I think not, but I try to do it anyway to heal somehow. I tried to heal and only failed. I never saw him again. Not once. And so my desire to look upon his face one more time seem to await nothing but the coffin. His face, his voice, all of him, try as I might to kill them in my thoughts, aren't dying out entirely. He stays where he is-in my mind, gleaming in obscurity, doing nothing but to remain as a memory. He's merely becoming a bed of embers to reignite from time to time, in my head, because still he's gone.

Both are dead, I'm sure.

...

Orihime asked me to move in with her, knowing fully well that something like that is headed straight for trouble. We've been together for over two years and we're still going strong. This isn't me, of course. So I take the time off, before giving her my answer, and head straight to this gallery to clear my thoughts. The streets appear desultory in their silence and dampness, something I wouldn't notice on regular days, so much that I'm already having second thoughts on this.

In my wake I find myself thinking of Rukia. I recall all the talks we've had in the past, where too much of both our lives were a part of something so separate from the reality known to mankind. She loved her brother, who wasn't human and is no more. Dampeals and Vampires, what are they to us now? Ashes, maybe. In time, the part of us which lusted for destruction in the disappearance of the ones we loved were suppressed to silence. And what I learned from this is, to be satisfied with memories was probably the bitterest thing we both had to suffer, and it's no less than the sort of suffering which usually takes months to vanquish-often a lifetime even. Resignation, we call it. Aside from that, I never got around to tell her I appreciate all her efforts to console me every step of the way, with me knowing all too well that losing a brother may be more difficult than any travesty I had to face. She's moved on, hence there's no reason for me not to do the same.

I walk on ahead, the coldness chaining my limbs, with light steps to carry my feet as though rehearsing my tread for some re-execution somewhere.

But far ahead someone is perched on a seat on a stone bench, and the sight of him goes through me like a blade.

Just when I've started to think all is lost _he _shows up.

**TBC**


	31. Let Forever Be

**A/N: This'll be the last chapter of this sh*t, so I might as well thank you for sticking with me up until now. **

**Chapter: XXXI: Let Forever Be**

"Kurosaki."

I am beyond overwhelmed, beyond mastered. Smothered under the weight of his presence, the very fact that he's alive, I manage to utter the name which was included in some bygone chapter of my life,

"Grimmjow." I say, and maybe suffering is in my voice.

"Kurosaki."

He doesn't seem to have aged a day since the last time I saw him, in a time closed up by bitter thoughts. He's still twenty years old, and forever will be, while my heart now contracts with weight.

"You son of a bitch, you motherfucking-"

My voice is muffled by his embrace, and my contempt eclipsed by his familiar scent. It lasts for a few seconds, where I become lost between enclosures of some hatred and the disbelief I didn't see coming.

"Are you cursing me, Ichi-"

"-Don't call me that. Don't you dare."

"I died out there, but fuck that anyway. I loved you, did you know?"

Bitterly I laugh at his straight face, fearsome still as it is. "Yeah, but you didn't love me enough to show your face once, did you? Seven years, goddamit."

"Hear me." He pleads.

"So let's get this straight: You showed me what life is, what love is, Grimmjow, after which you left me a broken kid. I was a kid. You and your brother stole my youth and robbed me of the happiness I could've harmlessly enjoyed. And now here I am picking up all the pieces when you come striding back, pining to be a part of what you abandoned, with-with-goddammit, what do you want?"

"You, obviously. But first, I want you to know I'm alive, at least in a manner of speaking, and so is Scheiffer, though I don't know where the prick is."

The mention of his name restores its glory in my mind.

"Is he? Tell him he's a goddamn prick-"

"-Listen, Ichigo, look at me. I've been a bastard. But there came a time when we were left with no choice but to flee. We scattered, my siblings and I, because doing otherwise was no different from digging our own fucking graves. If information would serve any purpose, Neliel and Stark are missing; I haven't heard a single word from them since we went our separate ways four years ago. Szayel went into hibernation for a year, then he went poof when he awoke. We're still looking for him. Only Scheiffer and I exchange words from time to time through emails. He wouldn't tell me where he is. But, last year, your name came across his letter. He said he was gonna go and pay you a visit. Did he come to you?"

"No."

"I thought so. It was too early for that. And I'm not so sure if everything was worth it, from the lives lost to being sundered from you. On top of it all, more than half of the Order got done in. Byakuya Kuchiki was one. We, Scheiffer and I, couldn't get in touch with you as soon as it was over, because mutually we decided, and knew, neither of us could give you a life you deserved. But I can't live with that. These past years were like a death sentence to me. Be with me, I beg you."

It strikes me that this requires more than the amount of time needed to decide whether I should move in with Orihime. More than that, this doesn't exactly spell happiness reconstructed. Now in the end, in the conclusion of all that's gone past, I've long ago shut that faraway world, where he and his brother lived, from me.

I've given up.

"Grimmjow, I'm glad you and your brother are alive and well. I'm sincerely relieved to see you walking again in the same tread as you had always done long before this. But always, in the back of my head, I'd known all along that things weren't gonna end up as good as we hoped, and worse still is that I believed otherwise. Now I've woken up and realized we had lived very different lives. Maybe it was over long ago, right from the moment you hopped off my window many summers ago."

He heaves a somber sigh and does his best to smile, taking all I've said like a man. Sure enough, he nods, his sentiments unspoken yet understood by the both of us.

"That's your resolution? That's it?"

"Yes."

He swings around, ready to disappear like smoke in the fastest fashion, to bind himself indissolubly in the darkness where he belongs. And then as if a destructive force ready, brewing and waiting, he cuts his pace and speaks again,

"Did you ever look at me _not _as a monster capable of the most horrid evil but as a _man _who would've done everything to find his way back to you? For once in your life did you even stop to think that what I actually was meant absolutely nothing compared to the immortal creature that I was? That every time I held you I became someone else besides the vampire who pined for blood and delighted on murders? Did you ever stop to think, and believe, that _I was a man_?"

"I did. Goodbye, Grimmjow."

I walk away, leaving him in a space which time seemed to have sanctified, to stay frozen in my memory. I make my way to my apartment, recalling in my head how beautiful he still is, and will be for the rest of his life, while I continue to age as time creeps by-to wither eventually and slowly unless some early death saves me from the common denominator of the human race, aging. Thus all he will be for the next years to follow is a blank space in my thoughts, where he should stand.

...

Inside my apartment I find the room in the exact same order when I left it earlier.

"Kurosaki."

This voice, one I know to have caused me too much suffering, now skulks the air. I remember the voice so well, but not the feeling I had in listening to them many years ago.

"U-Ulquiorra?"

"Yes, speaking."

"How did you manage to enter without permission?"

"The blood pact we made seven years ago toppled all unwritten laws."

"..." I speak not a word, and nothing of what's currently occurring appears distinct to me. I look at him, and in his face is disappointment, the sort that lasts as long as life. And he so happens to be immortal.

"Don't you think 'abandon' is too strong a word to use against Jack or me?"

He is seated comfortably on my couch, his black hair shining with the slightest provocation of the light from my window. He's still young, still beautiful, and his presence can't hurt me now, for I've had enough of anguish, or it's had enough of me, for the first six years of his disappearance.

"You heard what I told Grimmjow, I'm sure. There's nothing to sort with me." I surprise myself by saying firmly, each decision final.

"I'm sure I heard everything. However, it wouldn't be like me to just let you walk out my life and pass me by. Never so much as in a thought unborn did I once intend to be apart from you."

He leaps from where he is, with the same gruesome speed I never really got used to. And then, with barely a ceremony to warn me, he grabs my throat with a firmness which seems to suggest authority over all things eternal and supernaturally powerful. He opens his mouth and buries his fangs in my neck.

"Goddammit, are you killing me?"

"Yes."

...

I'm quite sure it's morning now, owing to the rays of the morning sun fighting their way through the gaps in the blinds. But, of all things, a strange feeling comes over me. It's as if this light is something altogether new, something I'll not get used to.

"You're awake." I hear Ulquiorra announce.

"Where am I?"

"Why, this is your apartment."

"Satisfied, you bloodsucking hound of hell?" I hiss, my anger preceding me, before I realize I don't feel exactly weak, as what I should have felt after all the blood I've lost.

"You slept like a log for four days. Jack dropped by last night, by the way, and wasn't too happy with what I did."

"Four days? Four fucking days? I have a family, classes, a job and a girlfriend, goddammit. How the hell am I gonna explain my absence to them?"

He examines me, taking only a limited interest in my high notes, before speaking,

"You won't be needing any of them henceforth. Come, Kurosaki, you must be hungry."

"You damn bet I am. But thanks to you, I first must go do a little explaining to my dad, professors, employer and girl." I continue to mumble irritable comments while rummaging into the bathroom for my toothbrush. I reach out for the blinds.

The touch of the sun burns my skin.

"Do not go into the light just yet."

_What is happening to me?_

"You…"

I examine the mirror and part my lips slightly asunder. To my relief none of my teeth are sporting sharp edges.

"Fangs don't appear under normal conditions. Only upon the presence of blood and hunger do they sprout." Ulquiorra takes the trouble of informing me, mechanically.

He sprints past the bed and grabs the shaving blade from my lavatory. With grace, he makes a shallow slit on his wrist from which a gush of blood issues.

My throat starts to throb. I can determine by smelling, without even trying, every quality of the blood coming out the incision, as if I could make out their composition perfectly. And on top of that the scent is so thick, so pure that I can hardly conceive any other smell in the room.

"What is this, Ulquiorra?"

"Drink, my love, and we'll be together, _forever_."

I can hardly give a thought to what he's saying and what it means. All I know is I'm thirsty, and the only way to quench this is to... drink that fluid, which is beckoning me in such a manner I never thought possible. Presently I find myself hardly aware of my actions. But this red liquid now seems so different from what I have always recognized it to be.

I… drink.

In time, I gather that someone else has entered the room.

"What a fucking mess. I don't even need to be invited anymore to get in. You really are a bastard, aren't you-taking his humanity from him just like that?" I hear Grimmjow's voice. I don't look up at him, for fear that the blood being supplied for me would disappear.

"Don't be a hypocrite now, Jack. You love Kurosaki too, don't you? And now there's eternity between the three of us; quite enough time for him to decide whom he loves better."

"Bastard. Eternity is a lot of fucking time. But if this is just a stupid game to you then I won't back out. More importantly, shouldn't you be tucking your wrist now away from him? He's had enough and will soon be bloated if you don't shove off."

Ulquiorra secures his wrist inside his sleeves, to my great, inexplicable displeasure.

"More." I hear myself say.

Grimmjow scowls at Ulquiorra. Rolling up his sleeves, he holds his hand to me. He offers, his tone dismally commanding,

"Drink. Only stop when you feel my pain."

I take Grimmjow's arm with a singular intent; to ravenously bury my face in his wrist. I can't tell whose blood tastes more delightful. Maybe it's a comfort to know I have an eternity to decide on that…

...

"Dad, I'm not quitting my residency, but I've broken up with Orihime and I can only see you during nighttime for quite a long time ahead. I'll be a doctor just like you, as promised."

Dad's face for a moment appears to me like a snapshot of some bad dream.

"Is it drugs, my son?"

"No, dad, something infinitely graver and more terrible."

He puffs a smoke on his tobacco, coolly, as though in approximation of how bad things are really going. Thing is, he has no idea how shitty things for his only son have gone down.

"So where did I go wrong in raising you and your sisters?"

"None. If anything, you're the best dad in the world. It's just that I'm a vampire."

A ruthless silence gathers in the room. To my credit, I have anticipated any sort of reaction that might be likened to some accusation of me being crazy and completely, utterly out of my goddamn wits. But dad remains unmoving, atoms of stillness making up every inch of him, until he opens his mouth,

"Oh that. Did you know, son, that your mother was in love with one before she met me? Funny, that I was afraid my first child would turn out a Halfling."

I stare at him, and find him examining me with those wise eyes I seldom see.

"Dampeal, dad-"

"-yeah, that's their term. I was afraid her Vampire ex-lover would give her what you have now-while carrying you. Turned out you'd be _worse_."

I find myself smiling at this. Yes, we do exist, walking among the living, without heed from time.

**END**

**A/N: alright, i labored hard for this stupid ending for obvious reasons; 1) it took me quite long to make up my goddamn mind if this should be continued; 2) no ending seemed right; 3) i hated writing the last chapters, perhaps 25-31; 4) kinda lost interest in it many times along the way, because it didn't seem like it was gong ANYWHERE at all.  
**

**so now that it's done, and i believe it's pretty lacking in satisfaction factor, but what the hell; can't squeeze anything outta myself at this point. But maybe you could leave a review?  
**


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